


A long curved, cruel path becomes peaceful and kind

by TFALokiwriter



Series: One More Light In Tropical Night [3]
Category: Lost in Space: The Classic Series, Star Trek, Stargate SG-1
Genre: 30 years worth of no robinsons, Aliens, Betrayal, Body Horror, Contains elements of SG-1 with Star Trek aliens, Dementia, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Grief, Hallucinations, Healing, Heartbreaking, Heartwrenching, Homesick, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rescue, Sad, Self-Worth Issues, So Dark, Suffering, Survivors Guilt, Torture, You Have Been Warned, You might need tissues, conclusion, cryostasis pods, resolve guilt by the end, self-hate, so emotional, what do you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-01 14:02:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 80,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15144680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TFALokiwriter/pseuds/TFALokiwriter
Summary: Things are going to get better.  Things are going to get easier as time goes on.  Baby, it's going to get better. Just keep walking on. It's going to be alright. It's going to be alright. Baby, it's going to get better than this.





	1. Depression and Grief

**Author's Note:**

> **Optionable** : can be seen as a interlude to the events that begin to transpire from the first two installments. Takes awhile to catch up to them.
> 
> And now the conclusion. . .

Bumps appeared in the cieling and started chasing after the Robinsons, including the Robot. The light seared through the building engulfed it chasing after them. Smith ran ahead the members of the Robinsons through the wide hall appearing to be a black blur. The camera aimed toward the cieling above his head to reveal that there wasn't a bubble on the wall chasing after him. He was the first one out of the temple. Smith tripped over a tree root at the entrance to the temple landing in the grass. The transparent bubble figures tore into the Robinsons straight through their backs. The sound of blasts striking bodies were easily heard but it was a noise that no traveler would want to overhear in their lifetime. His bones felt the blasts rippling down from his head falling down quickly through his skeletal system down to his toes. Maureen was the first to land with a cry before Smith's eyes. The red crimson sparkling light from her back spread around her formulating steam off her body.

 _Who cares if the lights in a old house go off forever_?

"Madame!" Smith called.

Smith watched the woman be burned away before his eyes. 

_In a cul-de-sac,_

His eyes watched the other members of the Robinsons fall the ground in front of him in pain. 

_Why, I do._

"Danger!" The Robot announced, as he was being reduced to flames that were making him vanish before Smith. "Danger!"

_Who cares if it's  set to be demolished the next day?_

"Booby!" Smith called, watching his friend vanish in the blaze.

_Who cares if it's meant to be cleaned up?_

Smith looked over toward Will's figure landing close to where John's figure was set.

_Who cares if the memories are all that's left?_

"William!" Smith shouted, then his eyes darted toward the unconscious man. "Professor!"

_Who cares if all that's left of it is the ghost of itself?_

His eyes darted toward the blonde woman vanishing before his eyes.

_Who cares about a lone house on the street?_

"Judith!" Smith called, looking over toward the figures that were leaving not a trace of them behind and the flames flickered up toward the trees. "Penelope!" he reached his hand out for the dark haired young woman watching her become whips of flames to his fingers. His heartbroken eyes watched the unconscious pilot begin to vaporize away from him. His world was crashing around him in the matter of seconds as he crawled over toward the pilot. "Don!"

_**Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhy** _

Smith's hand went through the man's figure landing to the grass.

**_IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII_ **

"No," Smith said, standing frozen where he was. "No. . . No. . No. . . No!"

**_DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!_ **

Smith crawled away from the scene and his back hit the sphinx.

_In the galley, there are more chairs than you need,_

"Please, no, this can't be happening," Smith  begin to weep. "No, no, no, no."

_Sitting at the table,_

Smith was hunched over weeping, covering his face, while his shoulders were moving down and up.

_In the dark,_

"NoooOOoooo!" Smith wailed.

Smith wailed on and off for a hour then brought himself up to his feet using  the sphinx as his support. He screamed in what couldn't be translated. Tears were stinging his eyes making his way to the Jupiter 2. Debbie walked off curiously, tilting her head to the side, at the oncoming man. The monkey ran off into the bush scared off the unexpected noise. He pressed a button that made the door close behind him. Smith slid down to the wall clenching at his tunic squeezing it, his eyes producing a mass of tears as he leaned forward weeping. He opened his mouth letting loose out all the fresh pain. He lifted himself up to his feet making a run for the elevator.

_The reminders pull at your feet,  
_

_Yet remaining, remaining,_

He tripped and fell landing to the ground still screaming intelligible words then forced himself up heading toward the elevator. Smith opened the rail to the elevator and whipped into it. He turned around, slapped on the up button, turning his attention on to the closed doors of the exit. He used his sleeve to wipe off the tears from his eyes. The elevator moved up.  He came to the very empty residential deck where he had a clear view of the galley from across that would never be full of laughter. Smith slapped the button again while leaning against the elevator cupping his face.

_And you're angry, angry, angry,_

"No. . . No. . . no. ." Smith sobbed, visibly trembling."They're gone. . they're gone. . ."

_And you should be,_

"Woe is me," Smith cried. "Woe is Robinsons."

_It's not fair,_

The elevator went up becoming part of a new scene where the Jupiter 2 was lifting off into the sky.

_Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there._

The Jupiter 2 became a distant figure to the camera.

* * *

Cameras were set up at the landing site for the historic event. It had been _almost_ ten years since the Jupiter 2 had gone out of the solar system and one year since the Robinsons had last radio contact with Alpha Control.  There were gasps from the assembled crowd as they stared into the sky. The Jupiter 2 didn't look proud and shiny as she had been when flying off into space for the Alpha Centauri flight. A flight that had been boarded by a traitor and a sapient B-9 as they came to find out from the officers. People covered their mouths to see the sight. The once glowing duetronium engines from below were shattered only emitting bright lights with parts of the bars were chipped off. Pieces of space barnacles fell off the bottom landing to the ground with a hard smack. Where there once had been a window beside the hatch was covered by metal that seemed to have been drilled on with massive screws that seemed to wiggle during flight. There were laser burns decorating the Jupiter.

The high pitch wail of the engines were heard giving it their all. The landing gear struggled to come down from below the space craft. The windows were covered by layers of metal that also appeared to have been screwed on sometime before that seemed to be in various stages of rust with barnacles decorating it indicating it didn't get taken care of often. The hulls underneath the Jupiter were loudly groaning in protest for making a landing. The Jupiter came down to a landing with great care and delicacy. The navigation bubble fell apart into hundreds of pieces. The hatch window cracked then fell apart loudly falling down the hulls on the exterior and interior of the Jupiter 2 as though intense pressure had been pressed against it with deep, long jagged scars lining around it. The two support beams fell off from the back leaving on the side that kept the Jupiter 2 standing.

All at once,  most of the transplanted metal fell off the Jupiter in a thin cloud of yellow dust and smoke from among space parts to reveal the heavily battle damage decorating the Jupiter. Two MP's ran into the Jupiter side by side. There was silence from the gathering crowd consisting of military officials were part of the crowd. Members from Alpha Control were part of the group in their white shirts with black ties. There were cameras rolling up front aimed toward the Jupiter featuring silent reporters who didn't know what to say. Look of curiosity were on their faces among the tiniest of hope for the crew and bracing themselves visibly. The moment of truth had finally arrived regarding the fate of the Jupiter 2's unexpected space castaways.

There was a slow walk down the steps followed by a long, depressed sigh. Step by step that sounded heavy that echoed through the silent scenery. A lone, well aging old man with his head hung low, defeatedly, came down in Jupiter 2 civilian outfit being black and purple clutching on to a gray bag with two MP's from behind him. He raised his head up taking on a confident, proud persona taking on a brave face in a way that was visibly pained. His eyes seemed to be searching for someone. A certain set of someones, actually. His blue heavy eyes scanned the sea of people only to find the faces that he knew here were no longer there. There were new faces around him. He turned his attention off the stunned group turning his attention on toward the distance. He didn't seem to be present being towed away. 

It was as though arriving to Earth was just a haze to Smith. He didn't answer any of the questions posed by the reporters that were coming all at once. The heavy feeling that had been in Smith's stomach had dissipated over the passing months taking care of himself and falling into fits of weeping at random points of the day. The bright intensity of the green around him didn't stand out as it should, the blue sky with popcorn themed clouds above him were gray and heavy to his eyes, everywhere he looked he could see people who reminded him of the Robinsons. What Earth once was to him had became the opposite. A stowaway had gone into space with the assigned crew and only his autopiloted shell had came back.

His last form of happiness was on the Jupiter in tears reaching the planet after hell. What little of happiness there was out there for him on Earth, there was none that he could accept at the time being. The very forms of happiness that he once enjoyed once was with him. And they were gone. Just vanished into flames before his eyes. The Robinsons had fallen before his eyes and burned away in flickering red flames. Flames that had eagerly eaten them alive before his eyes. He had the occasional nightmare of the Robot wheeling toward him engulfed in flames and he tried to put the fire out off the Robot but it kept coming back until his old friend was no more. He woke up crying after those nightmares. It was a mess. A clear, visible mess. He was in the interrogation room where two officers were playing bad cop and good cop. He stared through the window replaying just how it came to be this way. He had ran out of tears to share. The heavy feeling was just a small penny being dissolved by his stomach acid.

"What happened to the Robinsons?"

Smith had a sharp intake of air at the mere mention of them.

"I know you did it. Why did you do it?"

Following after Don's example, what would Don do? Not blow up. He was restricting himself from over acting. At least, not yet.

"Bob, stop it," the female officer said, glaring at her male colleague. "He doesn't need that."

"Yes, he does, Hanstine," Bob said.

"Can't you tell this man is grieving?" Hanstine asked, gesturing toward the silent man.

"He is not grieving," Bob said.  "He is being unresponsive!"

"We were on vacation," Smith started.

The officers looked down toward him surprised to hear him speak.

"That lines up with the last entry," came the reply from the cool headed officer. "Professor Robinson wanted a break."

"We went down to a planet," Smith continued. "The children---" he stopped, briefly, closing his eyes then opened them up with a heavy sadness lingering inside. "No," he shook his head raising his head up. "the _teenagers_ , the Robot, and I went out to explore." He looked back, fondly yet sadly. "We went into the temple. William. . . William and Penelope tried on some of the treasure. I took a lot of it," he raised his head up from the table. "Now that I look back at it, it was wrong and very. . . very. . very _selfish_ ," he lowered his gaze to the table. "The Professor ran in then told us to run. That is when we saw the bumps from above."

"What bumps?" came Bob while sitting down.

"They were more like lights glowing in the wall," Smith elaborated.

"Uh huh," Bob said.

"Then I out ran them," Smith replied.

"You out ran them?" Hanstine asked, as a certain understanding spread on her face.

"I should never have outran them," Smith said.

"And then?" Bob said.

"I tripped and fell to the ground," he turned his attention on to the men. "I fell instead of--" Smith stopped, sighing, closing his eyes.

"You fell. . ." Hanstine said.

"Yes,"  Smith said.

"What happened next?" Bob said.

"What happened next. . . what happened next?" Smith asked, his voice dripping in heartbreak. "I watched them fall to the ground burning away before my eyes is what happened next! They were burned alive." he lowered his head. "They were unresponsive when I came to their sides." he looked up from the table with eyes full of grief. "The Robot was destroyed in the flames. Completely destroyed," He became serene leaning against the chair with a distant look. "I didn't get a chance to say say goodbye. I. . I. . ." Smith shook his head. "I was trapped aboard the ship when it was getting ready to lift off. That is why the ship redirected toward the sun. That is why they went lost in space. That is why they died a year ago. I am guilty in their untimely demise."

There was silence from the two officers.

"Please, write your confession," the pen dropped with a heavy thud to Smith's ears.

Smith can see the heated glares coming from the severely burned Robinsons from behind the window.

"I am so sorry, Robinsons," Smith apologized.

The two officers looked over toward the window that showed no figure.

"Do you need to speak with a therapist?" Hanstine asked, concerned.

Smith paused, going through his memory of recent events.

"Yes," Smith said, then picked up the pen. "After my confession," he looked up toward the officers. "I told them my part before the tragedy."

* * *

The federal marshal stared at the woman. In all his thirty-three years on the job, this was one of the strangest and out of the blue announcements. He was resting at the desk with one grasped on his sprite lowering the remote as the other men cheered at the tv screen when a running figure made it in front of a fork shaped object. It had been less than a week since the man's return and people were already being irritated with him. It made the federal marshal wonder briefly how and why the man became a colonel in the military. Surely, someone that irritating couldn't have possibly climbed so far---and when the federal marshal heard of the achievements that he gained, it was a even more complexing question.

"What do you mean they don't want to share a holding cell with Doctor Smith?" The federal marshal asked.

"They don't want to," came the shrug.

"Not even be in his orbit?" The federal marshal asked.

"That too," came the nod.

"What did he tell them this time?" the federal marshal asked. "That he blinked his android clone out of existence?"

"The truth," the federal marshal turned from the screen. "If he doesn't get out of there in the next five minutes, I am afraid your prisoner is going to be dead in the next four hours."

"Geeze, getting his own holding cell," the federal marshal said. "That is just royalty."

The federal marshal made his way to the holding cell taking the cuffs along. They were turned away from Smith leaving a perfect circle engaged in light chit chat that was soft and low. He was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and hands were placed on his cheeks and elbows on his knees. He turned his gaze up toward the marshal then propped himself up to his feet as the jail door squeaked open. He was cuffed and taken out of the cell with a very slow walk. The camera watched the two go down the corridor to a lone single cell that was small and thin for one person only. He was uncuffed then shoved into the cell and the door was closed behind him as he rubbed his shoulder with downcasted eyes. He came over to the bed and turned around where he faced the bars and took a long, sad sigh.

* * *

Seated in a cold and bitter holding cell, Smith's hands were clasped together with his head lowered toward the floor. It was dark in the cell and moonlight was pouring in through the small window that had three bars set inside the window. The clear, white light was looming over Smith's figure that made a long shadow in the dark. He wore a grieving expression on his face seemingly patiently waiting for his court martial. The other prisoners were still awake as easily inferred by the sounds of distant whispering. Whispering that sounded like they belonged to ghosts from Smith's side of the holding compound. Smith seemed to be looking forward to the event but when he lowered his head in a shamed manner, it easily said that he didn't.

_"You are blaming yourself for a event that you had no part in,"_

Smith raised his head up.

"Professor, for all you're concerned I had my hands all over it," Smith said. "Please, show yourself."

John's burned figure came out of the dark.

The professor's dark brown yet curled hair was gone replaced by burns decorating his face leaving only behind his partially burned eyebrows and dark burns littered his face. The burns curled around his neck then down to his shoulders and straight through his chest. The chest was exposed from the halfway torn, burned colorful Jupiter civilian outfit. In fact, it looked like the professor was wearing black shorts that ended above his knees and were in tatters standing out as a fashion style when it wasn't. His boots were the only thing that didn't seem to be harmed from the burning.  He had his severely burned hands on his hips. The guilt in Smith's stomach grew worse.

 _"Your weight sent us off course, Smith,_ " John said.

"As you are very aware,"  Smith said.

 _"But you stopped us from being destroyed,_ " John spoke up. _"Not once, but twice, before we became lost in space."_

"There is the good and the bad in this situation," Smith said. "Had I not been there, death would have been imminent, and had I not awakened the major, you would have died from a crash landing. . ." he grew a considerate expression as his eyes were looking down toward the floor quite sadly. "Now, it seems that death came for your family either way and I could not help."

 _"Don't beat yourself up over it,"_ John said.

"Why should I when I survived but not your family?" Smith asked, standing up from the bed with his eyes focused on the professor. "Why should I!" his voice grew angry stepping forward toward the burned professor. "Answer me, professor!" His voice grew heartbroken, pained, and desperate. _"Why_ me?"

The camera backed out to reveal that John wasn't there.

"I thought so," Smith said, then turned around where he returned to the bed and stared through the bars. 

* * *

Depression was a bitch.

It clawed Smith in ways that were personal.

Ways that brought him down to his knees and go to dark corners of his mind.

Laughter was known to help people getting out of depression, their old rituals played a part, and taking care of themselves to get get them back on the top.  Debbie had ran out of the Jupiter before his departure. Smith's stomach felt full in the first few days. Not a desire to eat with a heavy heart and a full stomach. But he had to eat if he were going to pay for the loss. A loss that could have been prevented, and had to happen that way, according to the time merchant.  He had to make himself eat, reminding himself that he used to love eating it and just because his stomach felt numb didn't mean that there was something in it. He knew that there was nothing in his stomach so he had to eat much to the disgust inside. He turned to his memories of his time with the Robinsons to get himself back up on to two feet---but there were no laughs. Only tears. Instead of being happy to finally reach Earth, Smith was terribly sad regarding the matter. It was good to cry.

Smith recalled the trial.

"Is it true you wanted to go to Earth for the last several years, Doctor Smith?" Prosecutor Rights asked.

"Yes," Smith replied.

"Were you relieved when they died?" Rights asked.

"No," Smith said.

"Is it true you hated the monkey?" Rights asked.

"Yes," Smith said.

"So if you had the chance, you would have gotten rid of it," Rights said.

"Yes, but--" Smith was cut off.

"Yes or no," Rights repeated. " _Doctor_ Smith." that was said in a mocking tone that made his eyes grow big.

 _"You shouldn't give him what he wants, Doctor Smith,_ " Smith heard Judy from beside him.

His blue heavy eyes looked toward where he could visualize the eternally pretty blonde from in front of the seat with her kind, considerate blue eyes staring back at him. The aftermath of being burned to death did little to compromise her beauty now tarnished by tattered clothes and burned cheeks. Her once tidy, curled blonde hair was discarded on her shoulders. He stared at her with a heartbroken look on his face. Rights voice called for Smith in the background like static to his ears. Judy vanished in the same moment that she had appeared replaced by a empty spot. He returned his attention on to the prosecutor.

"Yes," Smith replied.

"Were you angry. . " Rights started. "That you couldn't get to Earth when the opportunity arose because the Robinsons had to leave immediately for one reason or another?"

Smith closed his eyes, painfully looking back, turning his gaze toward the counter with a sigh then looked up.

"Yes," Smith replied.

"So wouldn't it be fair to say that dying on you pretty much gave you a path to Earth?" Rights asked.

"No! It wasn't easy!" Smith exploded.  "I was attacked mercilessly by space pirates, space hijackers, and other kinds of space evil that you cannot possibly understand. I had to make certain decisions to save myself."

"So you allied with them?" Rights asked.

"Yes," Smith said.

"If the Robinsons were there, would they have done the same?" Rights asked.

"No," Smith said.

"So its true that you would still be lost in space had they not die?" Smith didn't reply. "Your honor, permission to treat the eyewitness as hostile."

"Granted," Judge Maybell said.

"Is it true?" Rights asked.

"That what?" Smith snapped. "They would have died with me because we didn't cooperate with them? Yes!"

"So it's true about the notes that Professor Robinson made regarding your behavior when given power?" Rights asked, leaning against the bar separating him from the jury.

"Yes---" Smith was cut off.

"So it's also true that you could be lying about how the Robinsons died," Rights said. "We don't have evidence of what you said had happened that way. You got power sometime on that planet unknowingly to the Robinsons before they could return to the Jupiter 2. And what does power breed?"

"Greed," Smith replied.

"You once held the younger members of the family as animals for a circus," Rights then added. "Is that true?"

"Yes--" Smith said.

"Were you angry that it ended?" Rights asked.

"Yes---" Smith said.

"So the last adventure before the 'sudden loss' you were angry about something else," Rights said.

"I wasn't myself!" Smith insisted. "I was angry over a very small matter."

"Professor Robinson says you were," Rights said. "And what would you say about that?"

"I was being controlled by a highly intelligent entity who wanted off that planet," Smith said.

"Like Mr Nobody?" Rights said.

"That was different," Smith said. "That could have killed Penelope."

"You hurt the children getting to the space pod," Rights said. "is that true?"

"I didn't like it a bit!" Smith insisted.

"Is that TRUE!" Rights repeated.

"Yes!" Smith said. "I wanted to get away from them. Far as I COULD from THEM. I was fighting against the entity as much as I could--"

"But you were stronger than it?" Rights asked.

"No," Smith said, shamefully lowering his head. "I was weak."

Rights shook his head making a tsk sound.

"If you were so weak, then why did you coax Mrs Robinson while being in character with a lie that you fixed her heart condition using a device that stalled her heart from stop beating after using cryostasis but actually made her heart stop beating thirty minutes after coming out of stasis?" came the fully loaded question that earned Smith raising his head up. "Where this device came from is never elaborated or mentioned. In fact, it's as though you got rid of it after the episode had ended."

Smith looked on toward the prosecutor, staring, blinking repeatedly while leaning forward.

"Pardon me?" Smith's voice came out as a squeak.

"You tried to kill her?" Rights asked. "Don't you remember that?"

"No," Smith said. "I would never do that to the madame."

Rights rolled a eye then turned around and walked back toward the table.

"Then why does this say that you put her into cryostasis?" Rights asked. "You were in control according to Professor Robinson's entry," the prosecutor gestured toward the journal in his hands. Smith's eyes began to sting, his mind running with a thousand thoughts, and he felt trapped. "You were written as apologizing but the professor wisely exiled you from the ship." The light flickered back on in Smith's eyes as his fingers rolled up against his palms.

"I DID NO SUCH THING! That is unnecessary slander to MY name!" Smith argued.  "I DID NOT. _I DID NOT_! **I DID NOT**!"

"Why should we believe you, Doctor Smith?" Rights asked, staring through the older man into his soul.

Smith broke apart at the seams as pieces of their last adventure came together while covering his face and trembling.

Maureen was laid on the floor not breathing. Don keeping him back as John was attempting to resuscitate her, Penny's hair a mess as though she had been electrocuted, The Robot keeping Will back with his arms, and Judy looking at him unsure as though something had happened.  He walked back out of the Jupiter in a fit of shock and confusion and hurt after being exiled verbally by the professor. The same kind of hurt on the children's faces. It hurt even more being told what had happened that day. It had to be repressed memory regarding the act. The journal was paraded in front of the jury as Smith's heart sank even more. He leaned forward feeling a fresh batch of tears heading down his cheeks. He can feel the judging hard, cold stares on him. The prosecutor held up the thick journal that had dark ink spilling through its pages.

The journal was not halfway full.

That simple fact made him weep even more on the stand.

The prosecutor  walked away, "I rest my case, your honor," leaving the battered and bruised emotional man on the stand.

Once composed and well together when he took the stand, that he was not anymore. The evidence was clear regarding his character. The prosecutor found a story then went with it basing it off their perception of his prior actions. The story was that this entire emotional breakdown was a charade. A fraud. A fake. Crocodile tears. The train of thought could easily be established in the first few pages from Professor Robinson's journal. They didn't bother to read Will's journals except for Smith's attorney who didn't use it to his advantage. From there, it continued to go downhill. It was all monotone with a thick cloud of grief blocking his vision of all the faces that were there. The testimony of various people regarding his presence at Alpha Control, his suspicious demeanor in his office, escaping to the Jupiter 2 with the Robot, and retired former General Squires.

The faces of everyone in the room were blanketed by the darkness.

To think it all came back from taking the stand.

"What is your verdict?" Maybell asked.

"We, the jury, find the defendant guilty," the foreman replied.

There was a mix of chaos from behind Smith and the sound of the gravel striking the wooden object repeatedly.

"I will have silence in my courtroom!" Maybell said.

Smith had no tears to share as he had shed them all.

"Doctor Smith, I am appalled from what I have heard and read through this trial. The Robinsons took you in, treated you as family, and you had the nerve to stab them in the back just to make it to Earth. That is unacceptable in this courtroom," Maybell said. "This is unacceptable as a free human being and as a space castaway. You intentionally brought them into the realm of danger time and time again. Was it worth killing them? If it was. .  . It won't be starting today." Maybell leaned into the chair. "You are stripped of rank. Starting this minute, you are sentenced to _life_ in prison without parole."

Smith flinched as the wooden hammer hit its resting place.

The heavy sound echoed in a way that felt final and hollow to his ears.

* * *

"Doctor Smith, how does it feel to be convicted?"

"Doctor Smith, how does it feel to be convicted in Military Court?"

"Doctor Smith, how does it feel to be on Earth again?"

"Doctor Smith---"

"I am innocent," Smith said, through gritted teeth. "INNOCENT!"

There were flashes of lights from the cameras aimed at him.

 _"Doctor Smith!"_ came a strikingly familiar voice from behind him. _  
_

Smith turned around on his heels out of the two officers grip with a wild look on his face at the sound of the teenager's high pitched voice to see Will from behind him visibly angry and confused. The media turned their attention in the direction that Smith had turned. A loud, confused "William?" came from the doctor feeling his heart shatter into a thousand more pieces. He looked very real, solid before his eyes. He noticed the teenager was shaking his head, in disbelief. Will stood out among the dark clouded faces, bright and distinct, colorful to a point with burned clothing and burns that crawled around his visible skin. Smith grew upset and let out a long pained, distraught scream at the sight.

The hallucination of Will vanished before his eyes.

Smith's blue eyes rolled back then he fell back, unconsciously, into the dark.

* * *

The transition from freedom to imprisonment in the form of prison suit wasn't drastic.

It was a simple change of clothes.

But it was a significant change.

Everyone knew it.

The orange jumpsuit had his name written on it. It was even simple to take off. One zipper compared to the two sets of zippers located on the back of the neck for the Jupiter 2 civilian outfits. There were red bands wrapped around his wrists in his skin from the prison transport leading him to the prison that he would spend the rest of his natural life in. It didn't terrify him but the shackles felt heavy against his wrists and ankles during the long ride where parts of his body that shouldn't ache start to ache. It was a long ride going over speed bumps to get there. The ankle cuffs and wrist cuffs dug into his skin rather uncomfortably during the long ride to the military prison set in Arizona.

His eyes had been fixated on the window during the ride that represented freedom. He was never going to have that again, Smith was sure of it.  Truth be told, he was relieved to be given a punishment for his part in the loss. A very harsh but justified one. He was given a single cell with a bed then the door was closed on him. The Robinsons couldn't come to his rescue then return to the Jupiter 2 where they had a bellyful of laughter at Smith thinking that they were dead and that he was really on Earth. He was emotionally drained. Unable to feel anything as he sat on the well made bed. He moved himself on to his side placing his head against the prepared pillow and fell to sleep snoring away. His eyes fluttered opened to the dark room hearing his cell door open. 

A security officer came in so he placed his back against the warm blanket.

"You asked for a copy," came a stray voice from beside him. "Finding your cell wasn't easy. In fact, this kept getting lost from hand to hand."

Smith felt lethargic and ready to fall apart staring at the gray cieling. 

"What copy?" Smith asked.

The name tag to the officer read 'Lieutenant Davis'.

"That thing,"  Davis said.

"I don't recall asking for this _thing_ ," Smith said.

"You kept asking for it during your trial," Davis said.

"No, I didn't," Smith said.

"Well, Officer Hanstine Kirk says you did," the officer placed the small package on the counter across from Smith. "It's been thoroughly checked and repackaged," he faced the doctor. "Nothing dangerous like a sapient B-9 toy, a miniature llama that can talk, a magical gauntlet, a lyre, a flower that copies everything---"

"Sir, please,"  Smith said, holding his hand up. "I have been ridiculed _enough_ in the last few days regarding the threats I brought to the Robinsons."

"Is it true, though?"  Davis asked.

"You do realize. . ." Smith said, his voice shaking as he swept his legs over the edge then placed his hands on his knees as the security officer stepped back. His voice was full of anger and hurt from the last few days. "That you're talking to 'insane delusional' man." he looked toward his hands. "As they. . . bluntly. . . put it at my trial."

"But you're not in a insane asylum," Davis said. "Your act didn't fool the judge."

"It didn't," His blue eyes stared back at the young man. "What makes you think . . that I will tell you the truth?"

"I don't know who to believe," Davis said. "I am still on the fence."

"Stay that way," Smith said. "Go on, Lieutenant," he waved his hand. "Don't want to get drawn into my _imaginary_ alien threat of the week." he finished in a mocking tone to himself then baa-wed at the idea.

Davis walked out of the room then closed the door to the cell. At first, it seemed that Smith was completely alone in the dark room with a hung head lowered down toward his lap that had hands laid in it. The camera gazed up from the scarred, defeated hands to observe a colorful translucent figure lingering in the left corner of the room contrasting against the darkness. The figure was muscular and young with visible presence of severe burns. Don's figure was situated on the corner of the room sitting in a chair slumped with his arms folded once Davis had walked out.

 _"She may not believe you're insane but I do,"_ Don's familiar voice came from across.

"Major," Smith said, feeling his throat go dry. "How many times must I remind you to stop playing with that announcement."

 _"The psychologist said you were insane,"_ Don said.

"Just a very inaccurate observation of my mental health," Smith said. "My defense was very weak trying to keep me out of here," he grimaced. "Intentionally."

 _"And you are here rather than a place that will do better at handling you,_ " Don said.

"Handling me better, indeed," Smith said, gazing up toward the severely burned young man walking past him.

 _"I don't know how long this is going to last being here,"_ Don said. _"would you like to have a drink?_ _Oh!"_ he snapped his fingers coming to a stop. _"I nearly forgot,"_   he stood sideways toward Smith. _"You can never do that with me, again."_

Smith closed his eyes, painfully, then opened them raising his head up. _  
_

"I wish I could," Smith spoke up. "I wish I could. . ." he lowered his gaze toward the floor. "every day."

Don turned away from Smith then walked through the door.

"Well I've heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the lord. . ." Smith began to sang, softy, yet quietly and broken. "But you really don't care for music, do you?" as the camera backtracked into the dark. "Well it goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, and the major lift." the unmistakable sound of his heart falling down the chamber where it was contained could be heard as his voice grew small and smaller until it sounded that he had lost his heart. "The baffled king composing hallelujah. . . Hallelujah."

Until it was replaced by faint whispering that turned into snores in the darkness.

* * *

_The darkness in the room faded replaced by shades of yellow highlighted by torches scattered around the square long room that had pure white treasure resting on the long extensive counter starting from point A to point B to point C to point D. The treasure was packed into large lumps that varied in size standing out of a late Christmas movie where the lights had grown blurry, the colors behind the decorations becoming soft and kind, sparkling glitter that stood out. The camera's attention was caught by the moving, ever present rounded shapes in the wall being the shade of yellow._

_"That was not my fault!" Smith insisted, taking several steps back.  
_

_John took Will's hand then fled from the lights._

_"Danger!" The Robot announced, his voice echoing through the cave. "Danger!"_

_The Robinsons fled in the direction of the doorway running for their lives._

_"Run!" John shouted._

_Bumps appeared in the cieling chasing after the Robinsons, including the Robot._

_The light was searing through the building engulfing it in light chasing after them. Smith lagged behind the Robinsons looking over his shoulder noticing the bumps were gaining on him. The Robot wheeled on ahead of Smith leaving a trail of dust behind in the man's way. The Robinsons were the first ones out of the temple leaving Smith and Don from behind. The lights had slowed down considerably from the speed the group were going until they centered on one figure. A sharp feeling entered the man's back sending him falling to the ground with a cry. Don came to a halt feet away from the entrance as the Robinsons looked over in the direction of the cries. Hot, searing pain ripping through him among the red sparkling light tracing over his vanishing figure._

_"No!" Smith heard Will's shout._

_There was a look of horror on Don's face looking toward Smith's direction._

_"Smith!" Don called, as darkness overwhelmed the older man's vision being consumed by flames._

* * *

The light in his eyes went out. The feeling of having a full stomach lingered not just the feeling of something restricting his throat threatening to close it and prevent another gulp of air coming down the passageway. To be even more specific, it felt like he was being drowned when he wasn't being held underwater and breathing perfectly. There were times in the day that he can feel this strange feeling slip into his left lung in a rather unique emotional way different from having a injury that resulted from a toothpick being swallowed. Pieces of heaviness falling down into his stomach coming down his intestines had become a old friend. The edges of his right eye leaked the occasional tear after he cried the first five nights in prison. The distinct feeling of sadness dangling in his heart had become acquainted to him. What peace that Smith had before the trial was all but gone replaced by the fresh grief that stung and haunted him. Like band-aids had been peeled away, the old wounds opened, letting out the nastiness of all his grief.

Living in the present featured moments of abrupt crying. The prison food was awful. Low grade, ungentle, and unappealing food staring back at him that was just lumps of color. His stomach felt full. There was no desire to eat the food laid in front of him on the tray. But he had to eat.  He had to live out the rest of his life paying for his mistake. How could he eat with with guilt laying in his stomach? Why did he survive? Why couldn't they have survived? It was unfair to him. Space was unfair. Life was unfair. He clung on to the bed sheets pressing his face against the pillow letting go of a fresh dozen of tears and sobbing. The pain of losing family didn't go away after being without them for a year. Smith didn't talk to the therapist in the next few sessions only staring out the window, defeatedly, yearning for freedom and his family. Moving on from such a loss wasn't going to be easy. It was difficult as it was landing back on to Earth purely blind using the radio traffic from Alpha Control as his guide. The therapist had decided to go about it a different way, asking about how he survived after losing them and slowly he was opening up about it.

Things were going to get better. The feelings were going to get easier to bare. That was very certain for Smith. Things _are_ going to get easier as the pain grew softer, eased, and more comfortable to live with from day to day. It wasn't going to be easy to find that peace once more carrying himself for another day. The will to survive was strong for the doctor. It would have been a much better existence that the Robinsons hadn't died so suddenly on him. Able to make his goodbyes. He was sure the Robinsons felt the same regarding the matter but being happy that they were together and safe. Safe from certain danger. The pain would have been easier to deal had the Robot survived the initial event. It was a selfish wish. Pure and simple from someone grieving for the most kind family. A family that had been his family. No matter what everyone had said about his feelings for the Robinsons and motives staying with them, most of them were half right and half wrong. In the beginning, they had been a pest that could be rid of in exchange for a return to Earth.  In the beginning, they were nothing more than strangers to him. How he wished they were still strangers to him.

He didn't open the package on the counter from across the bed in the first two weeks. Weeks that felt a eternity by himself. When in reality, he was surrounded by hundreds of people in the same facility. Walking aimlessly, invincible, to people who were just transparent figures who paid no heed to him. It was a on-going hell that he had made for himself. The Jupiter 2 offered no companionship not even her engines, her scanners, or the other parts of her. The automatic pilot to the ship provided a means to a imaginary companion who left him as soon as he was walked out of the ship with his hands cuffed behind his back. He had hoped that the Robinsons never got the chance to see the undignified cuffs on his hands being guided out of the Jupiter 2 upon their return to Earth. But that his wish had been granted at a terrible cost was heartbreaking. It made Smith take back all his wishes in the last few years to reach Earth.

There was a certain calm that echoed through the facility. Knowing what was going to happen next became a calming and reassuring assurance. Different from the unpredictable day to day being tense, lonely, and scary period aboard the Jupiter. The dreams of that day had become few and between. The nightmares were fading in his first two weeks in prison. He had stopped expecting the Robinsons to come to his rescue a long time ago. Too long. If it meant keeping the Robinsons alive in his mind then there it was nothing to talk about. Compared to life aboard the almost empty haunted vessel, doing tasks alongside people felt like a kinder work day. Only these people didn't say a hello or two. That was good. He didn't feel the need to chatter endlessly as he used to be. They had a strict rule regarding talking. Only talk when spoken to outside of the cafeteria. The cafeteria was free range for the convicts to speak with each other freely. Smith was fine with that but some inmates were not.

He was handed a set of papers one morning. He sat down on the bed then gradually opened it in his cell. One by one they read his certificates being revoked for psychology and practicing medicine. The only thing that he had left was his name. He briefly closed his eyes then tossed all the papers away  into the trash can. The family name 'Smith' had become forever ruined, linked to his mistake and a mass public assumption. A lie, fake news, and a story without the victims to come and elaborate behind the journal's entries. It was a low point in his life. Surrounded in darkness. He raised his head up high toward the wall across from him. Things _were_ going to get better. Good enough to smile, to laugh, to be happy, to be content, and at a point in his life that was yanked out from underneath him. 

He didn't see any hallucinations of the Robinsons anymore when the letters came in and that is when it hit him harder that they were gone. Never going to be standing in front of him speaking. He missed the Robinsons, dearly, but to move on was to cherish them and look forward toward the future. To dwell the present as his Aunt  Maude used to encourage him. He was alive in familiar surroundings, familiar species, he wasn't trapped aboard a flying death trap, and he had hit rock bottom. His eyes caught size of the yellow packaging on the counter laid underneath piles of medical books that had fallen sideways landing on to it. Presently, he wasn't a doctor. Presently, he was a convict. Presently, he had to do the thing that he enjoyed the most.

"Court yard hour!" came the loud, alarming shout that made Smith jump.

Smith looked over toward the door then stood up to his feet. His cell door rolled open and he joined the growing line of prisoners. They were guided out to the massive court yard that had various equipment. A group of prisoners began to play basketball, some centered together to a set of chairs and began a reading circle. The convicted officer stopped in the middle of the courtyard. The former doctor saw a familiar field from ahead that consisted of a desert like scenery with few patches of grass, dead trees, cactuses, and sweltering heat. It was golden to his eyes with hints of sparkles that stood out similar to the sand on a beach.

He was tempted to approach the fence. A temptation that he had been resisting since his first court yard time. And yet, he needed to say goodbye to turn the page up into the next chapter. He wanted to  say the words but they could not come out. He approached the fence tapping his fingers together then came to it and pressed his fingers against the cold, silver barbs. From his mind's eye, while his body was pressed against the gray fence, he looked on to view the Jupiter 2 on ahead with the Robinsons in attendance at the table glowing golden with optimistic chatter without him. Smith grew a small, sad smile then closed his eyes trapping the treasured imagery into his mind.

Then he turned away, opening his eyes, heading in the direction of the exercise equipment.

* * *

_He dreamed of nothing._

_Purely nothing._

_Nothing new that defied logic._

_He dreamed of being behind the prison walls moving about but unable to leave the premises watching life grow and expand. In the lonely flight in the Jupiter, Smith had felt like a paper bag drifting through the wind waiting to start again feeling so paper thin like a house of cards ready to collapse from a gust of wind. That feeling had dissipated. More so replaced by a new feeling. He felt like a stray seed from a dandylion that once floated in the wind flying without direction, searching for a landing, and unable to find a fertile landing place so it landed on the hard, rough pavement. He could open the cell doors and find no one was there in the cells, leaving him the only occupant inside the massive military prison. From the courtyard, there a glass wall that separated him from the rest of society somewhat clouded by clouds that shined against the golden, loving metropolis. The glass wall could be broken with ease, but the desire was not there._

_He felt a ache that throbbed on his back. The memory of pitch black wings stretching from his back spanning a crowd etched into his memory. The ache belonged to what was once his wings that had been chopped off his shoulder blades leaving behind a vulnerable injury. Smith had to determine how vulnerable it was. A part of his mind screamed 'no' while the scientific curiosity yearned to know how it felt. It screamed over the wary, cautious instinct. Instinct screamed at him to leave it alone. He moved his hand to his shoulder then touched. There was a sharp flash of pain that made him yelp so he reached his hand back. Very vulnerable, apparently. When he looked out toward the sky, he felt a yearning to leap into it and escape this hellscape._

_A small, soft set of fingers wrapped around his dangling hand then curled around his palm and squeezed it._

_"It will be okay, Doctor Smith," Penny's voice came from beside him._

_He turned his head toward the young woman's direction. Her dress was in tatters making it seem that she wore a top and a mini skirt with her lower torso left exposed revealing a dark shirt that wasn't there at all. The sleeves were missing only replaced by dark burns covering her arms trailing down toward her fingers that had visible redness. She wore a forgiving look on her face wearing a familiar smile marred by a terrible black and red burn. He can feel the heat radiating off her fingers burning into his hand. A warm feeling spread throughout his heart similar to how a creek was being refilled with water slipping over dry, smooth rocks washing them anew going over the cracks and holes made by time._

_"Penelope," Smith said, his vision grew blurry and wet between the alarm.  
_

_It suddenly occurred to him as he saw red flames float up in his line of vision._

_His hand was on fire._

Smith bolted up from his bed with a pained scream then momentarily gazed down toward his still burning hand that had the shapes of fingers firmly imprinted in his palm.

* * *

"Smith, come back! **_SSSSSSSSSMMMMMMMMMMMMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTHHHHHHHHH!"_**

Smith looked over the source of Don's voice in alarm lowering the newly gifted book.

"Major?" Smith called. _  
_

He had left the ghosts of his family behind. Staying behind would have been more harmful to his mental health. That much was certain to the convict. And the pain of living without them remaining lost in space living from a day to day basis. Being alone for over thirty years with the company of the occasional aliens threatening him and the Jupiter 2 including whoever they happened to be chasing on a typical basis would have been a special kind of hell for Smith. One that didn't feel as satisfying as penacing away for his mistake. That way of life was over. He firmly believed that kind of hellish existence had came to a end. A hellish existence that was less worse than the purposeless and directionless life that he lead. Repetitive, familiar, and comforting in the way that it kept him safe and sound. Instead, there was a negative outlook cast on the familiarity that he was becoming adjusted to. Smith was wrong on the fact that the period of hearing the Robinsons voices randomly was over, so could he be wrong now?

Smith shook his head.

 _"Smith, come back!"_  
  
Don's voice sounded angry and demanding.

_"Smith!"  
_

Smith can almost hear Penny silently pleading, " _Come back, Doctor Smith._ " while gazing toward the afternoon sky decorated in clouds that resembled popcorn. What was there to come back to? The ghosts of dead people confused and upset over the abrupt departure of their friend. He couldn't go back out there. He had no choice in the matter. He was supposed to feel home. Smith didn't feel at home. He felt trapped, imprisoned, and sad. It was never supposed to be this way on the long, lonely trip to Earth believing that things were going to be alright. Home was just a system away. In fact, he was home all along during the journey and it had taken now to realize that.  A part of home was destroyed, beyond retrieval, just a memory that could be lost. Home was so far away in the heavens.

_"Doctor Smith, we are right here!"_

He wished the Robinsons were here, they would make everything feel over nine thousand times better.

The occasional visits from Will and Penny at the visitors center with the Robot,  The Robot filling him in what Alpha Control was deciding to do with him (even determining how much time he had to spare on Earth), being told that Don opted against visiting him to pursue his career, being told that Judy was doing the same and it was eating all her time,  John and Maureen figuring out how to adapt to being on Earth again permanently, being told that Debbie was being studied, and being told about the relationship between the major and the singer blossoming than it had before. A fantasy that Smith had started to sink into but jumped out at the sudden sharp pain at seeing them again.  The Robinsons doing all they could to have made sure he had a lesser sentence--

_No._

It was a selfish wish and it made him angry at himself.

 _You survived, they didn't, you ninny,_ Smith reminded himself throwing himself back into the book.

* * *

"Mr Smith, you have a visitor."

That was a announcement that the convict had not expected to hear three weeks into his sentence. He was lead into the room that had several windows lining the hall that was lined with people. There was one convict behind the other half of the mirror. On the other half of the mirror were different kinds of people that ranged from spot to spot. He seated down into the chair and faced the people on the other side. There were four people set in front of him. Each of them were set in separate chairs at the premium spot that had a wider window and bigger space than the rest of the others. Richard, Barbara, Alexander, and Jake.

Richard shared a striking resemblance to John more closely than the other three siblings.

"We want to know what happened," Richard said.

"I told my side of the story," Smith replied. "You know what happened."

"We heard it from the prosecutor," Richard said. "Not from you." 

"I should warn you," Smith said. "It is nothing what you want to hear."

"We have to hear it," Jake said.

"We wandered off from the Jupiter," Smith started, earning a sob from Barbara.

Smith retraced the chain of events with a heavy heart taking them along gently for the ride. He could see it happening before his eyes that he was narrating as a dramatic retelling. His heart gently ached for the Robinsons. He can feel a fresh batch of tears forcing themselves up to his eyes leaving behind stings that he wiped off with a flick of his finger. He lowered his gaze out of shame from the still living members of the Robinsons as he came to the conclusion when it came to kicking the monkey out and flying off from the planet. Barbara stood up with tears in her eyes then ran off from the other side and was chased by Alexander. 

"Sister, wait!" Alexander called, as Richard and Jake stared back at Smith wearing their pain.

Smith lowered the phone back onto the device hooked into the wall watching them join Alexander.

* * *

His hands carved the familiar shape belonging to the Robot. The brown, collapseable mass landing on to his fingers was a more placement of his hand in the Robot's destruction than making his artificial intelligence. The Robot's figure was spinning at a low speed on the stool. Smith's trembling hands kept the figure up in place moving along in ease to the speed. From beside him were replicas of the Robinsons. Smith could overhear the Robot's laughter from behind him. The brown form's head was starting to fall so he quickly slid his fingers up keeping the rounded head up then moved along down to the treads. The simple, cold smooth touch of the Robot's treads that were larger than it echoed in his mind.

"Mr Smith, you're doing good so far," came Lieutenant Audrey.

Smith looked up, tiredly, toward the woman.

"It's going to fall, madame," Smith said, then turned his attention down.

"Oh, no it won't," Audrey said. "Not as long as you hold on. I admit, this is very small and easier to lose."

Smith turned his attention back on to the object.

"Yes, it will," Smith said, attempting to keep the form in place with a visible struggle as the object spun out of control the tipped on to its side and fell into a clump splattering him at the face.

"Next time you'll do better," Audrey said, patting on his shoulder stifling back laughter.

"B-9's are really hard to do!" A man with the Robot's voice remarked. "Certainly to form with clay."

Smith placed his hand on his shoulder closing his eyes feeling the hair all over raise.

"Are you alright?" Audrey asked, sounding concerned.

"I am not," Smith said, raising his head up toward the younger woman. His eyes were brimming with tears. "May I use the restroom, madame?"

"Go ahead," Audrey said, with a smile then left him be.

Smith picked up the rag from beside him on the counter, cleaned the clay off his face, and cleaned his hands off then dropped it back where he had picked it up. He moved toward the restroom door with his shoulder sliding it open instead of using his hand feeling more tears ready to come out. He came toward the wall and sobbed. His body trembled between sobs. Hearing the Robot's voice had opened the wound up again. He raised his head up closing his eyes with a shaky breath. He used the sink as his support to get up to his feet then flushed the toilet. Where did all that confidence go when it came to the Robot? Every time he heard the Robot's voice, it was another stab to the heart and his feelings intensified in ways that couldn't be held back. He had to find a way to cope with it, adapt to the reminder, and live.

Depression was nasty and it really hurt.

He looked toward the window, sadly, then turned away and headed out.

* * *

It was curious how the man behind the Robot's voice ended up in Arizona's Military Prison. It was a respectable prison that wasn't fit for someone so high esteemed like Burnfield. Someone who had been regarded highly in the robotology department had lost his wings and more than likely the rest of his life. Burnfield's hand was trembling as he picked up a spoonful of rice then swallowed it at a lone table. Smith sympathized with the man--No one wanted to sit with him. Once his plate was covered in food, the man made his way toward the partially empty table then came to a stop. The question was searing in his mind. A desire to have it answer stung his heart. His heart was repeating over and over in different ways it could be delivered. Burnfield turned his attention on to the somewhat younger man.  
  
 "Ah, Smith," Burnfield said. "America's greatest spy."  
  
"Not so great after all," Smith said. "I got caught."  
  
"That you did," Burnfield said. "The evidence was so obvious."  
  
"My employers betrayed me," Smith said. "Could have ended better."  
  
"Think that they like to use you again?" Burnfield asked.  
  
 "No," Smith said.  "And whoever you're referring to. . . I have burned  any chances of being trusted by another agency given my very public conviction."  
  
Burnfield looked both ways then turned his attention on to him.  
  
"We got a program up and running," Burnfield said. "It's called the Stargate program. . . and we have been kicking worm ass up there," Burnfield gestured toward the cieling. Hearing the Robot's logical but colorful deep voice coming from someone who's credibility were severely damaged was off putting for Smith that hurt. "It wasn't that long ago I had to be brought in for a simple mission regarding some minor system lord wannabes. You know, they are more terrified of the Robot than SG-1. Maybe that's just the Replicator's reputation proceeding them."  
  
"Stargate," Smith said. "Hmh, what a bunch of hooey," he twirled his spoon. "That is a lot of fantasy."  
  
"You don't know  what The United States Airforce has been through," Burnfield said.  
  
 "Developing nicely as I can tell," Smith said. "I enjoy slow."  
  
 "You really have no clue," Burnfield said.  
  
"Enlighten me," Smith said.  
  
"I got to meet a alien," Burnfield said. "A real honest to god alien."  
  
"I have met hundreds. Bad allies. Every single one of them when it came to reaching Earth," Smith cupped the side of his face with a grimace.  
  
"Yeah, I heard about you," Burnfield said. "You can't blame them for taking advantage of what they had at the time."  
  
"How outrageous!" Smith slid aside from Burnfield.  
  
"And so is inexplicably finding threats, now is it?" Burnfield asked.  
  
 "What is your crime?" Smith asked, softly.  
  
"I killed a lieutenant," Burnfield said. "Tortured her while she was awake. Reasons, well, a secret. The prosecutor doesn't even know what she had against me but still made a damn case. A case that happens to be connected to the Stargate program.  You should know, they are always willing to take criminal  from here and use them for their own gain. Saving a town, saving a planet, or just saving a colony. Sometimes, they never come back. . ." Burnfield looked over toward the empty space beside him.  He turned his attention on to the man. "It's those damn ankle shackles that does it. Makes them unable to run from their attacks and those belly chains don't help either."  
  
Smith gulped, feeling along his neck collar.  
  
"Do those with life sentences not get drawn in?" Smith asked.  
  
"They do," Burnfield said. "Must feel awkward to be speaking with the man who sounds like the Robot."

"No," Smith said, shaking his head. He looked up toward the older man. "Painful."

The uncanny laughter that was mechanical like from Burnfield came except it sounded very ill drawing his alarm.

"I am going to be out before you physically on this planet," Burnfield said.

"Out?" Smith replied, raising his brow in a concerning manner.

"In a body bag," Burnfield said, with a wide bitter smile. "My cancer isn't lightening up anytime soon."

* * *

True to Burnfield's word, he passed away away in the next month in his bed. Smith felt empty at that point watching the body bag be strolled down the hall heavily guarded by security officers by both sides. Months had passed since the return to Earth. It felt longer than that to Smith. It felt like it had been a hundred years ago instead. He was escorted back into his cell after his daily chores were completed. The counter had more books that were stacked against the yellow unopened packaging. He tried to carry a tune in these walls that were light hearted and happy but they always fell flat without soul. If he were with the Robinsons, they would be capable of putting a soul back into the song and lifting his spirits up simultaneously. A quality about them that he had missed dearly.

He slipped out the medical book from the counter then leaned against the wall and opened up to the last page that he had stopped on. The words didn't carry the same weight or the same mind boggling interest as they had before. He didn't enjoy life as he used to. But he had to carry on and do what he loved the most: reading, learning, and being alive the best that he could. The pain from the drastic loss had grown softer, bearable, the depression had adjusted to the new reality acting as a old friend that tried to help him feel not alone. That was still hard to accept his feelings as companions. He had no companions to help him navigate this life just books and what belongings that he had acquired in his voyage home. Smith lowered the book to his side then walked over toward the packaging. He had perfectly avoided being demeaned by several of the inmates and he can feel his luck was running out. Smith enjoyed the prospect of the beginning. Everything was very fluid and constant for the time being. Something that he never had a year in space alone. He slid aside the book then picked up the package in his hands feeling the crinkly, hard surface that crunched when his fingers pressed on it. He came over to the cot where he tore the packing into pieces until all that was left was a box that had a neatly folded purple fabric over something small.

Smith unwrapped the fabric then stopped once he saw what was inside.

"Where did . . ." Smith picked up the silver watch then flicked it open.

On the side were a photograph of the Robinsons minutes before they had boarded the Jupiter 2 with smiles.

Except it lacked the Robot as part of the group. It looked like the photograph had been resized to fit inside the watch.

 _"Everyone is capable of doing good, Doctor Smith,"_ Maureen's comment echoed in his mind.

"Yes, madame,"  Smith said. "What I have done.  . . so far is making small statues of your family and what you faced in the last few years."

Smith tossed the wrapping into the trash including the box leaving the photograph behind.

"And even more," Smith said, softly. "my dears."

* * *

It was four months since Smith was convicted in military court for the loss of the Jupiter, the Robinsons, and Major West. The debates about what would happen if someone like Smith had ended up in space with a trusting family had ended in disaster that consisted of fist fighting and verbal insults compared to the more civil debates that brought a realm of possibilities that the journals had not introduced during the trial. She had turned the radio off after listening for news regarding the weather because she didn't want to hear of it. Barbara's emotional well being was being held together by bubble gum, sheep wool, and the well panned evidence of her older brother's fate.

Would a killer-without-heart be in so much pain for killing someone? The pain that was displayed outside the court house in the eyes of the press and recorded. That was a question that hadn't been solved by the debates. No one was sure. Not at all. Not even by Barbara's opinion but forgiveness wouldn't come easily for Smith unlike her brother. She had read the journal entries, studied them, after being shown by Richard and getting to see the personal thoughts of his struggle in space broke her heart. The daily reports showed the deterioration in their supplies and the dwindling chances of reaching Earth. It made her angry. Simply because the traitor had screwed them over time and time again when it came to staying on Earth on a permanent basis.

When she looked back at it, she knew that living in the past rather than in their familiar era was a bittersweet way of staying home. She wanted to break out into tears just from what were in the several pages worth of years and weep for the pain that her brother had been tormented in. The emotional pain in being forced to do things that he necessarily would never have done under his free will. Most of the Robinson relatives refused to read the children's diaries as they were simply biased, over-exaggerated, and not completely stuck to the truth. They didn't need to see it to know that. They knew it in their hearts. She came out of the car closing it behind her then made her way toward the door on the well kept sidewalk trailing alongside the grass from the parking garage to the front door. She came to a stop beside the mailbox  set alongside the door then slid out a collection of envelopes sliding in the key into the door while scanning through the names. She turned the knob then came into the house to be greeted by a small circular void in the floor. Barbara smiled, gazing down toward the purring hole.

"Hello, Thomas, would you like your appointment set today?" Barbara said, softly.

Barbara stopped, freezing, momentarily, then laughed.

"You're not a customer," Barbara said, grinning from ear to ear.

She knelt down to the void then stroked it earning a soft mew in return.

"Let's see what we got here," Barbara said, lifting herself up to her feet.

She came over to the counter where she dropped her keys into the small bowl in front of pictures that had a black feline figure in random hijinks. She placed envelope by envelope onto the counter until she came to the last one that made her stop and look at it oddly. She ripped open the top and slid the letter out and laced the envelope onto the counter. Barbara uncurled the letter then her eyes scanned it. She let it fall to the counter following her scream. Barbara picked up the letter covering her mouth as tears were rolling down her cheeks.

_Dear Barbara Robinson:_

_Your application for making a Scholarship entitled 'The Robinsons Scholarship' has been accepted. The Robinsons Scholarship will be listed across the nation next year. Your efforts to help those who do not have the money to attend college is most appreciated. We have reviewed the scholarship and found it to stand at fifty-five trillion dollars. Thank you for taking the time to create this scholarship and start a contest. The details behind the contest were approved. Your writing contest will be held by Richard Castleson, Jake Taffey, and Alexander Robinson._

* * *

It was a sudden, abrupt change in Smith's schedule.

He didn't get told why he was being transported but it started to seem likely that the United States decided to use him one last time in the field. The very thought of it made his stomach twist and turn. The restrictive belly chain, the leg shackles, and the cuffs were highly uncomfortable. He thought that he had dealt the last of them on his arrival to the military prison. Turned out he was wrong. The window showed a tunnel to a mountain and it became pitch black in the gray prison transport van. He turned his attention off facing the wall tapping his fingers together. A feeling began to sink further into his gut. Could it be exactly what Burnfield had warned him before his death? Being used once more as a expendable asset? The hatred for his skills and at himself only grew. His head felt hot, heated, and his hands were trembling with sweat coming down his skin. He wanted to rip the shackles off into pieces and forcibly break off his restraints then run fast as he could to freedom.

Far, far, far away from this 'Stargate'. 

The very facts to this 'Stargate' had been boiled down to a circular sphere discovered outside a pyramid in Gaza.

He wasn't alone in the prison transport featuring three men who were smoking cigarettes.

It was hard to enjoy the company when the smoke drifted into his face and he couldn't wave the smoke off.

"Mad about being used?" The lieutenant across from him asked.

"So should you," Smith said, turning his attention toward the light brown man.

"I don't know about that," the lieutenant replied, between puffs from his cigarette. "serving my country for good rather than for the bad would be a dream come true."

"I can't serve my country in shackles," Smith said. "I can't ever serve it ever again, and you know that, _sir_."

The smoke came out of the cigarette then came toward his face so Smith coughed. 

"That's what they all say," came the officer. "They are always wrong."

"I heard they die because of these shackles," Smith said.

"Really think so?" The lieutenant asked.

"I heard it from the most reliable source," Smith said.

"Sources lie," came the vague reply.

The van came to a stop in the dark. The doors to the van was then opened by the two men in the back. Smith was guided out of the van then into the cold room. He felt stiff in his knees and below that felt like that they needed to be popped to relax. He was unable to relax as he shuffled toward the doorway leading into the tunnel. He turned around then faced the stationary van.  The doors closed on him from Earth then into the bright orange intense room. The elevator rolled down humming as it went. Smith was visibly trembling between the two officers. The door opened to a long gray hall with two officers in camouflage uniforms with subtle differences that stood out to Smith.

Smith's feet firmly planted into the ground as his alarms went up.

They were aliens.

The two officers towed Smith out of the  elevator as he cried, "No, no, no, no, no, I don't want to die! Please, take me back! Take me back! **TAKE ME BACK**!"

He was shoved into the arms of the two officers then they went into the elevator and he was left in their arms. He looked over his shoulder watching the doors to life close behind him much to his horror. He was taken into another elevator while trying to squirm out of their grip to no avail.  The doors to the elevator closed behind the three. The elevator rolled down further into the facility humming along as the convict's pleas became distant but gradually becoming more frantic than before.  The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. He was dragged out of the elevator between his pleas falling into the arms of two officers and he was lead away into the next elevator. The cycle repeated itself for the third time.  Smith was terrified as the elevator came to the final stop. The hair all over his skin raised  as his face twisted and the door opened  to a long hall that had two officers standing side by side sharing a striking resemblance to the alien individuals by his side then he was handed off to them. He was gently towed away from the elevator then guided down the hall. The lights went out in the hall that made Smith scream. A minute later the power jerked back on into the facility with a loud hum. He can feel the ground trembling beneath his feet like there was something strong powering up from within the building. The walk to where they wanted to take him was taken going at his speed.  
  
Smith was towed to a large set of doors that opened before him. He came to a abrupt stop in his tracks when he saw a massive, wide circular gate. A familiar shape that wasn't embedded in a cliff drawing a look of horror from him.  There were a group assembled huddled in a circle then faced the man. They were more human the other ones that had brought him down except for individuals with unmistakenable pointy ears, green pigments on their cheeks that contrasted against their light brown skin in a green uniform that had a dark vest and baseball hats. His eyes focused on the blue body of water set inside the gate. Two of the officers from the group then approached him and helped him up the ramp at a reasonable pace. The leader and her friend went into the gate vanishing before Smith's eyes. He looked over his shoulder to see a familiar face, Jack O'Niell, but older and gray in a general's uniform. He can see the man's heavily disappointed look focused down on Smith's figure standing while alongside a younger man by his side wearing glasses. Smith turned his attention off the window toward the gate continuing his difficult walk forward. He came face to face with the giant body of water looking at it it in a intimidated manner easily showing his awe and curiosity at once. He closed his eyes taking in a deep breath then dipped in forward.

When Smith came out of the other side, he was soaked. Compared to how he normally arrived on planets on the Jupiter 2, they were normally deserts and the green patches of land sometimes were centered between sand dunes with a trickling body of water that had to be carefully checked then concealed for the rest of the ride and paced being drunk. There were large trees from around  the large circular gate set on a platform made of brick that ranged in color. Smith turned toward the gate watching it close before his eyes. He saw a sea of trees from behind him. He looked up to see two planets that were visible in the planet's orbit and one moon toward his left that was very bright and visible with craters that stood out clearly to his eyes. It also seemed to have a series of rings surrounding it separating the planet into two halves

"Welcome to Yutano, Mr Smith," the leader of the group turned toward him. "I am Colonel La Forge."

"Could you have bothered to tell me before what this mission is?" Smith asked.

"You would have refused," La Forge said. "We require your service."

"In _cuffs_?" Smith asked, shaking his hands furiously  making the chains rattle.

"Yes," La Forge said. "standard procedure."

"Standard procedure does not require using a asset with their hands _cuffed_ ," Smith said. "This is not a mission. This is kidnapping . . . KIDNAAPPING!"

"This _is_ a mission," La Forge replied. "A mission where the bad guys can't read English or the language that their hostage has on their outfit and you are wearing the exact same outfit that our friend is in,"  A puzzled expression grew from Smith. "I hate this more than you do."

"A . . . doppleganger?" Smith said, his heart sinking

"Yes," La Forge said, as the pointy eared officers surveyed the scene.

"How important is this hostage to the Stargate program?" Smith asked.

"It's not that simple," La Forge said. "In fact, it's more complicated."

"It is simple if you try to explain it in laymen's terms," Smith replied.

"He is important to Earth and the United System of Stargates," La Forge said.

"United System of Stargates?" Smith asked. "You mean to say this entire time there were ways I could go home in the last several years?"

"No," La Forge said. "You would have died if you tried. The iris is always closed."

"How disappointing," Smith said.

"This is  Lieutenant Harvey," La Forge pointed toward his friend. "These two are Commander S'Teef and Lieutenant S'tiif from the Vulcan High Council expedition group. If anything happens to me then S'tiff will take over as the leader of this expedition then you may die, if you insist you're not Kosaga Lutrithia in the first five minutes then you will die at the hands of terrorists, and if you attempt to thwart this mission, you will die. We're in a different galaxy far from any form of help that could come in and act as back up to make sure that we get through the gate in one piece. No matter how hard you try to pull things in your favor, it won't work. It won't work here. It just won't.  Do I make myself _absolutely_ clear, Mr Smith?"

"Yes, sir," Smith replied. "But.. . . wouldn't their cuffs look differently?" he gestured toward his hands. "Shackles look different from civilization to civilization."

"Like you've been cuffed," La Forge said, skeptically.

"Shackles made of pure, raw energy that burn your hands if you try to escape. . ." Smith recalled. "Shackles that become part of your skin, your bones, binding your wrists together and make it difficult to get off. Shackles that keep you held up and restrained from escaping floating in mid air left in the aching position for hours on end!" Smith shuddered then dramatically reiterated. "Oooooh, the pain, the paaain."

"Their shackles are not cruel, Mr Smith," S'Tiff said, as Harvey rolled a eye at the former Colonel.

"They have shackles that are like these," S'Teef said. "Based off eyewitness accounts."

"Eyewitnesses?" Smith asked. 

"We got people on our side who likes to make sure we have a free Stargate system," La Forge replied.

"Vulcan High Council has only allowed us to help in this very risky mission," S'tiff said. "We are only working on limited time with Stargate Command."

"And we need your silence to get in," La Forge said. "Complete silence if we are going to pull this off."

"You have my word," Smith gestured toward himself with his index finger. " _Complete_ silence." Smith twirled his finger in a circle toward the pavement.

La Forge appeared to be satisfied.

"Good," La Forge said, nodding her head growing a smile. "we will make it to our destination by nightfall."

"Will you come back for me?" Smith inquired.

"We won't need to. They will throw you in the gate and send you back once they realize the switcharoo," La Forge replied, easing the convict. "Move out!"

Smith was guided down the stairs with a slow shuffle. Smith took in a breath then exhaled enjoying the scenery around him gazing around with full attention and curiosity. Compared to the small squad, he was relaxed and calm surrounded by officers with P-90's strapped over their shoulders compared to their tense and serious demeanor's. The veil of grief had lowered from Smith's vision over the passing months allowing him to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. He looked up at the sound of a bird caw then lowered his gaze down seeing something white and liquid falling. His eyes landed on Harvey's head that became splattered in white. Harvey stepped aside then went into the forest as La Forge laughed. Harvey returned to the group then they resumed their travel moving into the forest.

It reminded Smith of his lonely travels in space on planet-side retrieving supplies with the occasional company under the cloak of dark. Sometimes, these company stabbed him in the back then ran off and left him to die, a few times were not as literal but the tranquil and calm scenery didn't make him feel as terrified as he normally would but angry, upset, and hurt. He shook his head straying his mind off the ugly memories. The memories of getting up to his feet using the tree bark as his support then yank the blade out of his back or being dragged on the ground in the arms of two muscular beings telling him to stand on his feet with dignity then with much reluctance doing so. The scene then didn't feel as calm and soothing but intense and intimidating. He didn't need to be afraid or feeling hurt. But the lonely feeling still lingered surrounded by officers wanting nothing more to get rid of him.

There was no doubt that Judy would have love Yutano as would all members of the Robinsons. He could easily see the looks of awe on their faces gazing up at the sky. John offering a theory on how two neighboring planets can be so close to a planet with a ring and the moon being so visible throughout the day. The children listening attentively to their father and cataloguing it in their minds of a truly unique planet. Smith wished they were there to enjoy the scenery.  The group came to a stop in their tracks with their gazes fixed at a bat like yet pterodactyl like being flying overhead. Smith gave a scream at the creature. The group paused in their tracks simply unwilling to move where they stood. The grip on Smith's shoulders loosened while the officers  eyes were on the creatures heading down toward them.

"Run! Don't just stand there! Save yourselves!"

Smith lowered down out of the flying creature's way then attempted to run on falling to his knees on the grass, abruptly. S'Tiif was yanked up by one of the space bats. The convict fell to his side then rolled on to his back. La Forge fired at the animals as Smith turned on to his side then placed a hand on his knee helping himself up and speed shuffled toward the forest rather successfully blending into the dark where he hid behind a tree. Harvey is yanked out of the group by one of the massive furry creatures. S'teef leaped out landing onto the creature's bag that chirped and squabble and thrashed at him as Harvey untangled herself from the alien's talons bolting toward the forest.

"Everyone, into the forest!" La Forge shouted. "NOW, NOW!"

S'tiif retreated into the forest covering for La Forge.

"S'Teef!" La Forge shouted.

S'teef leaped off the creature making a run for the forest.

"S'Teef!" S'tiif replied.

The bat creature reached out grabbing onto S'teef's torso with one talon that tore through the man's chest.

"S'Teef!" Harvey screamed, as neon green blood poured out of the corners of Vulcan's mouth then lowered his head. "S'TEEF!"

The bat creature flew off into the blue sky as the team fired at it and each one of them missed.

"Stop," Smith said. "Stop!"

One by one they lowered their P-90's.

"He is gone,"  Harvey said.  "He is gone."

"That's going to be a problem getting his body," La Forge replied.

"That will  not be necessary," S'Tiif replied. "That is a shell. A vessel. It is not logical to retrieve a empty object."

"Have you no sympathy for the dead?" La Forge said. "We have to get  that body back and bury it properly."

"I do not understand your instance on retrieving what is going to prove a undeniable obstacle to this mission," S'Tiif said. "We have a mission."

"This mission can stand aside for the time being!" La Forge replied. "For all I care, he can wait another day."

"I don't suppose you know where to find the nest," Smith said.

"Concentrated in the mountains," La Forge replied. "It's just a over hour away from the gate. Harvey, S'Tiif and  I will go get the body back while you get our rescue operation smoothly done."

"Yes, sir," Harvey said, with a nod.

"Wasting ammunition is not logical, Colonel La Forge," S'Tiif said. "I will decline this side quest."

"You're under my command," La Forge said. "Don't have to like it. . . Or would you like to lose another superior officer on this mission?"

"Negative," S'Tiif replied.

"Just what I thought," La Forge said. "Split up. We'll meet you at the gate in the morning."

The two separated from the small group and a bad feeling sunk into Smith's stomach ready to turn his stomach over and shoot out the contents of his morning meal.

Harvey turned toward Smith then took him by the forearm and guided him through the forest whispering, "Not another word" earning a baffled look from Smith.

What did she expect from him? What did everyone expect from him? To turn back into his old ways and manipulate everyone around him? No one believed him when it came to the truth.  Stranded on a planet with restraints and no key to unlock him, he couldn't exactly manipulate himself out of cuffs. It was a ideally terribly situation no matter how it was written. The scenery grew dark around him so Harvey took out a flashlight. There was the sound of birds from around them that seemed very odd. Smith looked around noticing white whips of light floating from above that seemed to be glowing in colors of the rainbow. It was a lovely sight that could remind a average person of a elegant, well done painting made at night. He kept his attention set upwards in to the night enjoying the scenery. He could look up into the night sky to see the bright rings that acted as a natural made light.

Harvey turned the light off coming to a stop then signed, "Stay here."

Smith remained propped against the wooden tree trunk looking on watching the woman go toward a lone heavily armored being. The individual slid their helmet up then leaned forward to listen in carefully. A fist knocked the alien being  onto the grass then she dragged the being into the forest. Smith looked on to see what was making the golden glow---and his eyes grew large, his mouth fell, and horror spread on his face. It was a spaceship that resembled a Chinese dragon on a stool. Flames jetted out of the dragon's golden mouth. The flames drifting into the wind brought back the very recent memory into his mind and he shuffled backwards shaking his head, muttering "No" over and over.

A heavily armored figure came toward Smith's side then forcibly grabbed him by the shoulder.

" _Complete_ silence, traitor,"  came the demeaning reply. "Or you will die on this planet."

Smith looked over in horror and dismay that seemed at home to him while unable to speak  a word.

He was yanked forward toward the spaceship and closed his eyes, trying not to whimper as he trembled. Once, he could keep himself together in space but those days were long gone. They went up the golden, warm ramp into the spaceship. Harvey gazed in both ways noticing there were security officers lining at certain parts of the corridor. Smith opened his eyes then gazed around the homely, richly scenery full of strange text on a keypadd set in front of them. She pressed in several buttons and the doors rolled open before her. Smith was shoved in landing to his feet on the floor with a very silent yelp. Once, he would have glared at others for the harsh treatment but none of that came. She went on to another panel then typed it in. She yanked him up to his feet and came to the center of the room. A series of rings surrounded him with a soft, unique hum then in layered  flash of bright lights they were transported to another section.

She brought him forward through the open doorway. Harvey gazed about the corridor  ever so cautiously then resumed the walk taking abrupt twist and turns.  Finally, they came to a door that was small and sphere in shape.  Harvey let go of the man's forearm then unexpectedly smacked him at the head with the long spear sending him falling against the corridor. Harvey swept her hand on the panel and the door opened before her revealing a strikingly familiar man with subtle differences here and there but all the same. His dark blue eyes gazed toward the figure as Harvey entered the room then fired off the restraints from the man's wrists. He rubbed his wrists standing up to his feet then walked over the exit sliding off the belly restraint and looked at the man with pity. Harvey slid Smith into the cell propping him against the wall then walked out of it and the door closed behind her.

His blue eyes fluttered open feeling a ache coming from his head then began to reached his hand up for his head only to find the restraint on him prevented him from doing so. He stared at the cieling contemplating his predicament. He could imagine the Robot going on a list of things that had happened so far and end up mechanically laughing. Will telling the Robot that it wasn't something to laugh about so the Robot apologized. Smith closed his eyes with a sigh then reopened them turning his gaze toward the door. Was it necessary to knock him out? He had seen countless variations of himself in different iterations. He got out of his recent messes by sheer will, determination, and limited cooperation.  He was truly, utterly alone in the cell. Smith saw a pointy triangle beside him so he picked it up turning to his side then turned toward the wall where he propped himself and carved in to the metal shoving it hard to make the first visible scratch. He stepped back to reveal what had been written on the wall.

_I was here.  
_

_-Zachary Smith._

He made a carving of the Jupiter 2 from below it with pained detail set below his name. He dropped the sharp object feeling a sting from along his thumb in a curved 'c' shape. Smith clutched into his palm fixing his gaze up toward the cieling. The bleeding from around his thumb stopped dripping down onto his pant leg. He turned toward the opposing wall then slid down to his feet. Smith let out a sigh lifting his head up toward the cieling. He rested his eyes lowering his head and softly snored. Smith was stirred out of his sleep by a pair of arms that grabbed on to his elbows yanking him up forcibly and panic spread through him as he began to struggle against the opposing forces with a yelp. He was lifted out of the cell and dragged through the hall where his boots squeaked sliding against the surface.

His vision adjusted to the lighting in the golden hall as he looked both ways feeling very afraid. They took him into another room, used the set of rings, and were beamed up to the main deck. His shoulders and hands ached from remaining in the same position for hours. His stomach loudly grumbled. Another set of doors opened before him to what was a more sophisticated, but simple bridge that featured a thrown, a large console, a big view screen, and a counter that had a circular receptacle. Smith lifted up to his feet, his mind racing from thoughts that pertained to being transferred from his body to a container or to be judged.

" _Complete silence, or you will die,_ " echoed in his mind.

It made his feelings change from terrified to anger easily making him keep his mouth shut.

He looked up to see that it was pushing daybreak. He was visibly trembling on the bridge, hoping against chance that help would come running in unceremoniously and shoot out most of the captors then take Smith to safety. The reality was, he wasn't that much important anymore to the military. It would never happen. He watched a light emit from the circular device. They hadn't made it to the Stargate, quite yet. He had to give the team time. He had to go along, and do as he was told. A bright white light illuminated from the receptacle then a figure draped in a dark cloak came walking alongside the convict.

"This is your leader, people of Carvalaic," the figure had a deep alien voice that boomed and had a slight echo. "A liar, a criminal, and a fake prophet."

The figure turned toward Smith, her eyes glowing yellow briefly then returning to their normal shade, staring into him.

"Your leader will suffer horribly and painfully," the figure added, as Smith's face fell with a shudder. "until he has told you what I have always known and you have not. It will make you suffer worse than my reign on you. I will be your ideal leader and your god as I have always been and always will be unlike _him_." She turned toward the convict who was moved toward his side by the two heavily armored individuals. She reached a hand out to reveal that it had golden armor wrapped around her hand completed by a gem at the center of it. A yellow glow began to emit from the device aimed at Smith's forehead. "confess."

Smith shook his head.

"Then you give me no choice," the figure said, spreading her finger tips out.

There was agony in his head like someone was tearing through his thin walls, forcing themselves in, leaving a wreck behind. It felt like someone was digging something long, sharp, and hot into his head burning everything inside his brain that traveled from channel to channel. Smith screamed, painfully, his legs giving out causing him to fall down to his knees and his eyes closed. He tried to fight back the invasive procedure that seemed hell bent on damaging his mind rather than what was contained inside of it. What new walls were made to protect certain corners were quickly taken down. He made wall after wall, desperately, hope that was being lost very quickly. He opened his eyes to see the familiar flickering red flame erupting from the device. It was a momentary flash that took him back.

The flames drifting off the backs of the unconscious Robinsons. He squeezed his clasped, trembling hands together them gave it his all to protect one small corner of his mind left untouched by the woman. A treasured vault concealing the memories pertaining to the Robinsons gave him renewed strength sending the energy away fueled by his anger. Hot tears were dripping down his cheeks as his screams turned from agony to anguish brought out by the throbbing reminder. His white eyes turned to red and his face twisted into anger. She yanked her hand back then paced as he lowered his head down with a pant feeling sweat traveling down his skin. He grew a victorious grin on his face raising his head up with a head that was in pain. He looked over toward the receptacle, panting, then turned his attention back onto the well dressed figure very exhausted. She didn't seem to be happy as she approached him and spread her fingers out turning the brightness around Smith into darkness.

His eyes opened once more but it was in a dark room that had a cell gate and his bounds had been removed except his jumpsuit's upper half was tied around his waist, his white shirt was discarded on the floor torn to pieces, and his hands were held above his head. The cuffs were big compared to his small, feminine hands. He attempted to wiggle his hands only to earn a jolt that stung into his wrist. He looked down observing pieces of his belly shackles were on the floor along with the cuffs. It quickly became apparent that the hell he had escaped several months ago had not really ended. He raised his head up with a sigh, annoyed. A figure came into the cell with two other muscular individuals by their side. One of them was equipped with several long poles so it seemed. A light from above turned on to reveal the scars that the last year in space had given him. The female figure lowered her hood stepping forward to show her face painted in white with additional colors that made her green eyes stand out. She reached out grabbing on to a handle that was held for her and she approached him and walked around the man. Was he going to suffer in silence? No. Was he going to speak on the off chance that they had made it? Chances were, it had been just ten minutes since the agonizing torture.

"You are more stubborn then what they say," the figure said. "My compliments on your spirit. "

She raised the stick up then slid it down his left breast making a long scar that traveled down spilling a trail of blood. Smith squeezed his eyes closed, squeezing his hands together. _Lord help me stand through this._ She stepped back twirling the item in a circle walking around him then traced along the vulnerable scars on his back that made him flinch. Scars that he had earned being backstabbed, ambushed, and captured that ranged in length and shape. He saw the receptacle was placed on the newly stationed stool that was lightly tapped on and a jet of light came out. She was very silent. The silence was unnerving and terrifying at the same time. He felt a overwhelming sense of dread take over him then felt what something sharp pierce into his shoulder that elicited a pained shout.

She whispered, "Confess," into his ear.

Smith turned his head toward her when she withdrew the long blade and shook his head. _No._ He could see in her eyes that she was very angry at him. She didn't like it when it didn't go her way. She handed the item to one of the newly arrived armored individuals. The man's eyes glowed green when he faced the convict. _I am very afraid. I am very, very, very, very afraid._ Did it occur to the convict. Outnumbered, lacking laser pistols, or any form of allies, he had made the next best enemy who could cut him down in his prime. A long scar was made down his chest earning a more girly and horrified scream. He squirmed only to be jolted keeping him in place emitting yet another scream. He lowered his head, the stinging fresh from his skin and his mind.  Another wound was made into his shoulder sliding leaving a tail of blood behind in a more deliberate shape. It made him wish even more that he had been the one who was burned outside of the cave instead of the Robinsons. The pain was continued on through the hour that gradually led Smith into the darkness.

They left him dangling rather than taking him down. Time did not have any meaning inside a secluded, dark lighted room. His stomach growled loudly demanding to be fed and there was nothing to help. Eventually, he was taken out of the shackles with soiled pants in a humiliated manner then left to lurk in the cell. He slipped the grandfather's watch out of the pocket then scooted away back against the wall. He felt the silver wrist watch slide down from his elbow on to the stinging wrist. His hands and shoulders ached. His wrist felt burned and had clear electrical burns wrapped around them asides to the rounded holes below his thumb set resting on the wrists that had healed over. He was moved into a smaller, thinner cell that lacked light. And he never felt as dirty than he had in his entire life. It quickly became apparent that they were torturing him.

It had to have been more than a day since being roped in to the mission without his consent.  His prison outfit laid in the center of the room that stunk to high heavens. His newly given wounds were healing. And perfectly nude awaiting for the next round of torture. Smith slipped out the pocket watch then flipped it open to be faced with the bright gray and golden glowing light brightly landing on his face. Comfort wrapped around his shivering, not cared for figure as he wrapped a hand around his shoulder lowering his head breaking into tears and closed the pocket watch pressing it against his chest, squeezing his eyes closed, leaning forward. The feelings piling on to his pack fell off smoothly leaving him feeling better. A lot better. He lifted his head up wiping off what remained of his tears with the edge of his thumb placing the back of his head against the wall. He wrapped the wrist watch up then shoved it into his ass, painfully. He sighed, closing his eyes.

Abruptly, Smith was lifted to his feet with a pair of hands tightly clinging on to his forearms so he reached forward  covering his lower extremities looking around. He was brought into a room that had a table with a counter set across to the right hand side situating a small, rounded receptacle from earlier.  He dropped against the floor landing against the flattened bulk of the table. A white light illuminated from the device. The two heavily armored warriors forced him onto the table with a short lived struggle. His body was bound to the table. He struggled to raise his arm up against the table much less his head and upper torso only to feel a strong inclination to remain still. He looked up to see a strange wide object coated in light bulb fixtures that were glowing purple contrasting against the dark gray machine held up by a long support beam. Fear was coursing through him as he grunted and groaned trying to move his joints and turn himself to the side. 

"Confess," The figure repeated. "Confess, and you will be freed."

Smith turned his head toward the woman who was clean and dry, beautiful, gorgeous, and healthy compared to his scarred  and dirty figure.  He was tempted to reply, 'Never', a simple phrase that spoke volumes and likely would have left back him a memorable figure to have been held captive--but the question was posed in a way that hadn't been changed from earlier. Smith stared back, contemplatively, then turned his head in the direction of the receptacle and back in the direction of the woman. The flash of the Robinsons appeared before his eyes inside the pocket watch smiling back at him. _Let me be brave.  Let me be brave. Let me be brave._ He curled his fingers into a fist as he mentally ran through a list of things they put him through.

"F. . . Freedom?" Smith asked.

"Yes, yes, yes," the figure said.

"I will not be signing my execution, madame," Smith said. "But I will be signing my pardoning papers."

The figure hissed then came to his side.

She spread her fingers out delivering a intense burning sensation in his head that made him scream in pain.

Was it worth the come back? It was worth it to him. Smith could hear Don's very alarmed reaction in his ears, "Smith, what are you _doing_?" among the flash of anger that would be on full display to the figure. Smith squeezed his eyes shut letting out the loudest and pain induced scream that he could bear. He can feel blood trickling down his nose. He lifted his head up toward the direction of the light fixture from above. The figure reached her hand back turning away from him then marched on heading toward the dangling pink, purple, and yellow dangling beads standing in the way of the doorway.

"Who do you think you are?" the figure turned toward the man.

He gave a pained smile turning his head toward the woman.

"Not . . . the right . . . hostage," Smith replied. "safe. . . and sound. . . at Stargate command."

The figure grew a furious expression on her face.

"Liar!" the figure said. "Turn it on."

Smith turned his head toward the light fixture that was overshadowed by the device that slid over him.

"Believe me!" Smith said. "You got the wrong ma---"

The lights on the machine turned on brightly blinding his eyes. There was a funny feeling radiating through his very being as small red circles began to elevate on his chest in the form of a grid and the gravitational pull against his body fell down. His stomach recoiled at the pain circulating through his body. He was weak, unable to move against what the machine was doing to him. The grid extended from his torso to his legs leaving behind orange skin. He turned his head to the side clenching his trembling fingers into a fist. It was a weak fist that fell apart becoming slack indicating the strength inside had fallen down to a level. He had his eyes on the receptacle.

"Help me," Smith plead. "Hel. . . help. . . help me. Please."

His eyes  began to close before the still active receptacle and his head turned away from the receptacle losing consciousness. His eyes opened to find himself hidden in the dark with his back against the wall. His torso was gently aching from the inside. He felt tired. Very tired. Things were going to get better. Things were going to lighten up. It couldn't stay this way forever.  How long he was there, Smith had no idea. But what he did know, is that he had a lot more torture sessions. The word 'Confess' was repeated at him, over, and over. He had already confessed that he wasn't the person she wanted. The way to end the torture would be to confess that he was someone he was not. This kind of hell wasn't what he deserved. He could stand it to a certain point and bounce back like a spring in defiance. They were trying to crush his spirit. The torture seemed to be designed that way. And they failing as his spirit was crushed over a year and eight months ago. He didn't have much of a spirit left to be crushed.

Instead, he confessed about how horrible the situation was much to the disgust of the figure and insulting her thoroughly. He wasn't sure how many torture sessions that she put him through much to his dismay and hurt. Some sessions featured being dunked into the cold water face first giving him facial burns, being aimed repeatedly by a spear that retracted with a sizzle of electricity after giving a example of what it could do, and being called words that he didn't understand but assumed they had to have some forms of similarities with nasty words in the human vocabulary. Abruptly, during one of the sessions where he was being electrocuted by a stick  over and over with his hands held above his head, the ship tilted to the side making him swing sideways. The figure fled taking along two warriors with her out of the room. It is what they deserved for putting him through a degrading hell. He heard the sounds of gun fire, explosions, and screams. So they had came back for him. They had came back for him. They had came back for him! His hopes were raised as the ship shuddered from side to side loudly groaning in protest.

He cleared his throat then cried out, "HELP! OVER HERE! PLEASE! HELP! HELP! HEEELLLPPPP!" over the sounds of disaster.

Smith was trembling lingering in mid-air where he heard the sounds of boots headed his way in the dark lit room.

Out of the shadows came a dark man with a golden emblem on his forehead and a highly muscular build entered the room carrying what was a long AA-12 shotgun in one hand completed by a stoic look. He aimed the shot gun toward Smith. Smith recoiled, closing his eyes, bracing himself for a painful end. Instead, there was a loud sound from above Smith earning a startled yelp. Smith collapsed to his side. There were more firing from across Smith  that was exchanged by the dark man. The dark stepped into the cell and delivered more crushing blows. The sound of bodies collapsing to the ground was evident to Smith's ears. The dark man came toward Smith's side then raised a eyebrow tilting his head with intrigue in his eyes. Teal'c took off his black jacket placing it down to his knee.

"I will not hurt you,"  Teal'c said, holding his hand out.

Smith reached a tentative hand to Teal'c's outreached large hand and took it.

"Thank you," Smith was able to say.

Teal'c placed the jacket on the many scarred shoulders and gently sent him on.

"Teal'c, what is keeping you--" The same man from earlier but younger with longer hair came to a stop. "Jack is not going to like this."

"Get him to the ship, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said, gently sending Smith to Daniel.

"We're going to get you to Earth, Mr Pavaloia," Daniel said.

"It's Mr Smith, sir," Smith replied, tiredly.

They ran out of the way of firing then made their way into the hangar bay after using several rings. Daniel guided Smith into a standing up right sarcophagus and closed the door on him. The familiar hisses told him that it was a stasis pod sending him into slumber and allowed him to relax only for a little while in the dark. When the door opened, Smith was treated to a young blonde woman with big horrified eyes then turned in the direction of a visibly angry O'Neill. The blonde guided Smith into the next room. She retrieved a set of red generated two piece clothes and handed them to the man. The door closed behind the blonde. Smith dressed up in the center of the room going over the healing scars decorating his skin.

He flinched each time the piece of clothing touched the scars. He carefully yanked out the pocket watch from his butt then cleaned it off using the side of his pants. He placed it onto the edge then bent down and picked up the red shirt sliding it on buttoning it up as he went. He observed a strange set of pod like machines connected to a strange column that  had small circular lights glowing numerous colors. He sat down onto the ledge grabbing onto the pocket watch and moved into his pocket. He pressed his head against the wall looking on the station. It had to be a recharge station that was a bit improvised using random parts.

The door opened and in came O'Neill.

"How the hell did you get in this vessel, Doc--Mr Smith?" O'Neill switched mid-sentence.

"You did," Smith said, looking up toward O'Neill. "I had no choice nor no say in it."

"So he used the next best thing to retrieve a hostage," O'Neill said. "He intended to send a team after you."

"No," Smith replied. "They did not."

" **What**?" O'Neill asked, eyebrows hunched together and his face laced in disbelief.

"They intended for her to drop me off," Smith said. "She didn't realize that . . ."

"She never really knew him," O'Neil said, with a nod.  "We will send you back to Earth once we reach a planet with a gate."

"I expected nothing less from you, Colonel," Smith said.

"It's Jack around here," O'Neill said.

"Very ideal compared to being held captive," Smith said.

"Don't need to worry about that wannabe goddess," O'Neill said. "Carter and I killed her."

Smith nodded his head.

"How many times have you been cloned?" Smith asked.

"How many times have _you_?" O'Neill asked. "We are someone elses androids. Not Harlan's."

Smith tilted his head.

"Harlan?"

"A survivor,"

"Survivor,"

"Last of his kind."

"That must be a lonely existence,"

"Speaking of who, could you do us a favor. . ." O'Neill said, earning  a eyebrow raise. "And give Harlan some company?"

"It depends on who this Harlan is," Smith said.

"Safest person to be stuck with," O'Neill said. "And annoying."

"I can do with any form of company other than criminals," Smith said.

"Good," O'Neill said, then stood up to his feet and came toward the door. He stopped then turned toward Smith. "We really appreciate this."

It is only later when he goes through the gate with a slip of paper to Earth coordinates using the DHD and encouraged to explore it a bit does he wonder why they would have appreciated it. It was dark as though it had seen far better days. Smith was trembling looking around the factory like scenery. He took a tentative step forward, gazing around slipping the paper into his pocket. This Harlan fellow had to be around here somewhere. It was a favor that he could gleefully return, he wanted it to last forever, a lifetime if possible rather than going back to Earth and remaining cuffed for the rest of his days. He walked on calling "Hello?" repeatedly. His voice echoing around him. He eventually came over to a large computer that seemed to be deactivated. The colors were dark and cool coming from the large computer, smaller but still as large to the convict, with his intrigue caught.

There was a ominous robotic, alien sound that suddenly came from around him.

That wasn't good.

He took a step back looking both ways visibly trembling, calling out, "Harlan? Harlan?" He looked around. "I come in peace, Colonel O'Neill sent me to give you some company," his voice echoed back. "Harlan!"

Smith gave a girly scream then turned around.

The convict began to flee where he started to run down the corridor.

A bolt of energy from the background that struck him in the back sending him falling to the floor.

Smith regained consciousness strapped on a metal bed and screamed at who was above him.  
  
A strange large man appeared beside him with clasped hands looking over tilting his head,  "Comtraya!"

Smith gave out another scream.

The man reached  his hand out in a robotic way, "This is your custom, yes?"

Smith screamed.  
  
"Do not be afraid, I am Harlan the sole survivor of Altair, I am friend," Harlan unbound the man with a press of a button and Smith bolted off the bed and made a run for it. Smith whipped around placing his back against the door with his fingers placed against it and he stared at the man. "Why are you afraid?"  
  
"You _attacked_ me!" Smith said, placing his hand on to his chest. "I have every reason to be afraid for my life!"  
  
"Oh," Harlan said. "It did happen that way to your perspective," he looked off regretfully. "Yes." Harlan's eyes shifted toward Smith. "I _did_ that."  
  
"Why would you do that to someone my age?"  Smith asked, horrified.  
  
"It could not be helped," Harlan said.  
  
"What do you mean by couldn't be helped?"  Smith asked.

"It must scan and retrieve DNA of each individual who comes to my home," Harlan said

Smith looked down to check his garments then relaxed, he wasn't a clone.

"You could have asked," Smith said, bitterly. "Showed up and not given me the scare," he walked forward with his hands in fists. "You do not treat company this way. That is cruel of you!" he poked at the man's chest, repeatedly. "Undeniably cruel!"

"I was recharging," Harlan replied.  "I would have been there." Smith narrowed his eyes. "Believe me. I am always at the gate when company arrives," A sole survivor being bold to stand out? Not likely, Smith wagered, Harlan hid. Harlan was a coward. Harlan gestured toward the door. "You can go home now." Home. Home. Home. Smith's first thought was to the Jupiter 2 and his family.  No, Earth was home. His family was _dead_. _Earth was home!_ Smith had to remind himself.  "The transfer was completed hours ago."

"And you just woke me up," Smith said, glaring down the man. "Now?"

"The other is a very entertaining individual so I lost track of time," Harlan said. "Comtraya!" he clapped his hands throwing them into the air growing a smile on his face. "Good company, good company!" he came toward one of the panels then typed in a code and the door slid open to the corridor. Smith slid the paper out from his pocket.  "Company is sleeping."

Smith folded his arms, shaking his head, taking a sigh very disappointed.

"Does he know?" Smith asked.

"Yes," Harlan said. "It's been a wild twenty-four hours."

"A wild day?" Smith asked. "You drugged me?"

"No, just put you on pause," Harlan said, earning big eyes from Smith. "Company got stuck so my friends had to go rescue him."

"Oh dear," Smith rubbed his forehead. "They should have told me before I came here." Smith shook his head then sighed turned his attention onto Harlan. "Goodbye, Harlan."  
  
Smith walked through the corridor and wandered off.  
  
The sound of his boots echoed behind him.  
  
"You are going the wrong way," Harlan popped up behind him then gestured toward  the direction behind Smith. "The gate is this way."  
  
Smith shifted toward the direction that was pointed in then turned his attention toward the shorter man.  
  
"Thank you, sir," Smith said, appreciatively.   
  
Smith slipped out the pocket watch sparing a glance to his lost family.  
  
"Ah, your family?" Harlan said.  
  
Smith's eyes shifted toward Harlan.  
  
" _Once_ ,"  Smith said, returning his attention on to the sparkling gray and lively colored photograph. "I did."  
  
"I understand," Harlan said. "My family is still out there. They occasionally visit from time to time. Dangerous line of work they do. Dangerous! Dangerous!"  
  
A certain warmth stirred inside Smith as he grew a sad smile.  
  
"I feel for you," Smith said, nodding his head then turned around and walked on.

The pocket watch was returned into his pocket. Smith looked down toward the paper with a strange set of symbols  beside Harlan's address. It was another planet, so it read, that had a line of text reading 'Dial home here, home address is on the back, please rip into shreds after dialing home'. He took out the bulky device from his pocket once folding the paper. The home emitter was already set up for him. He made his way toward the path that became more familiar to his eyes making him pause once seeing the computer. He looked around warily then bolted in the direction that he had been going in earlier. It had been a wild and terrifying post-Jupiter 2 adventure Smith would give it that. He hoped it would never, ever, happen again. The thought of being returned to a Earthly prison reassured him that things would return to some form of normalcy. He looked forward to it.

It all depended on ones perception regarding the situation. One Smith was going to be happy and the other was going to be sad for the foreseeable future. Smith came to the large, dark gray protruding item with the gem at the center that stood erect from the ground marked by strange symbols varying in shape just like the one he had seen Daniel press to bring him here. Smith placed the bulky device into his pocket then pressed the symbols as they had been chronologically organized on the paper. The gate opened clasping onto the symbols sending out a cloudy splash out and returned into the center. Smith spared one last glance at the factory feeling the familiar tug to stay behind in freedom and good company. But then he was here, wasn't he? Living as a free man quite happily with company. Harlan came to a stop across from him at the rails giving a small wave. Smith returned with a equally bitter, sad wave.  
  
All he had to expect was being cuffed all over again and being restrained for the return trip to prison. Smith lowered his hand, closing it, letting it fall down to his side. The convict turned his attention on then fled into the gate where he arrived to a beach. Smith set the paper into his pocket strolling toward the beach  where he sat on the sand and enjoyed the scenery. He observed the waves loudly crashing against the shore and the sight of birds flying from overhead in the distance making caws. He saw two moons peaking out from behind clouds among the blue sky feeling the wind blow against him. He could spend some time enjoying the scenery before returning to his chaotically long, curved cruel path.

* * *

There were officers standing at the gate with their guns drawn and heavily armored officers standing at attention.

Through the blue sea came out a badly sun burned Smith.

"Lower the guns," O'Neill announced, with a bewildered look on his face as Smith seemed. . . A little out of it staring up with a long empty, distant look in his eyes. "and someone get him to the infirmary for that sun burn!"

Two officers came side by side.

"A month in and he got out of it in one piece," Daniel said.

"No," O'Neill said, watching Smith be taken by the arms. "Someone helped him out of it."

Smith screamed, elbow punching the officers at the faces and staggered back with a wild look on his face falling down to the ground. Smith immediately got back up on to his feet getting off the platform toward the gate feeling like he was back there again on that ship with heavy breathing and a thousand terrified thoughts rampaging. _No, no, no, not again_! He fled to the corner of the room, visibly trembling, and very upset. O'Neill looked on in then turned his attention on to Daniel. Smith lowered his head onto his knees falling into a fit of tears and gibberish words in between that didn't make sense at all as he was overwhelmed in feelings.

* * *

"You're being moved to another prison in New York," Davis said, once the door opened to Smith's cell. "And put into general population. That's all they would say."

Smith propped his last book into the box gazing at the lieutenant.

He looked down toward the box.

There was a lot of reluctance to leave the prison the same way he came.

The feel of cuffs, the feel of a square object between his wrists and the familiar ankle bracelet digging into his skin that made it hard to walk properly only to do a slow shuffle. It wasn't a experience that he liked to do a repeat of in the near future. Smith sighed, knowingly, as Davis closed the door. He shook his head. He was yanked out of the opportunity to be left to a much desired existence.  He didn't mind this existence but he would object to _that_ one. Being transferred from military to civilian was puzzling. Couldn't he have been transferred to another military prison? It felt like he was being thrown away by the United States into the general population that could as well spell his untimely demise. Smith wasn't going to go down so easily if they thought they could wash their hands of him and never have to be responsible for him. He was going to be brave just as much as he was terrified.

He slipped the pocket watch into his pocket. He looked up toward the window letting in a fresh pool of light that was blinding to the camera then refocused moving out to reveal Smith alongside the window staring out observing the fields. Being moved from a comforting, barren desert to a calming, green scenery didn't stir the typical joy that Smith had felt. Only it bounced more to Smith's eyes that was brighter than how he had viewed it as a dark shade months ago. The sky's bright blue intensity stood out to him in a welcoming way that didn't terrify him but he knew better. He knew better. He knew he was safe. There was no need to yank him out into space for the time being. He could welcome danger that Earth had to throw at him. It wasn't as terrifying as facing aliens who threatened to take him away for their selfish reasons.

The sight of hawks gliding in the air made a small smile appear on his face. The man sighed, watching the hawk  disappear into the distance. He could make out shapes among the cloud drawing himself out of a pleasant memory. He spotted the shapes of animals and furniture among the clouds not just the stereotypical perception of cloud spaceships. One of the clouds bore a great resemblance to the flying tin can that he had desperately put together time and time again during the year long flight. Smith gazed down toward his cuffed hands. His hands bore healing scars from all the care that he had done to the bridge and to the external hulls very carefully. Not only the fading burn marks from the visit by dream Penny. Looked like a dent had not been done to the ship. At least, until he had landed into worse attacks nearing the end of the long journey that sent the Jupiter falling down to planet side to perform emergency repairs when so close to home.

The scenery changed before his eyes from the highway to the country road to a paved, well traveled road.

Smith could see up ahead there was a long facility with the shape of fencing on the top of the walls that were  being curved and thin. Unexpected dread settled inside the man.

 _"DANGER, DANGER!"_ Smith heard the Robot's voice. _"Doctor Smith!"_

Smith looked over in alarm at the source of the voice to see that he was surrounded by stone faced men and women. He turned his attention off them toward the oncoming facility. He was thankful the Robinsons weren't here to see this. Smith believed that he had heard and seen the last of his hallucinations months ago. The long bus drove through the open gate to the prison and the door loudly closed it with a loud thunk. Most of the prisoners were recent convicts still in the outfits that they had been arrested in after being found guilty. The door to the bus opened then he was lead out in a single filed line. Smith observed the large fence that displayed the large courtyard that didn't look any different from the one at the military prison. All except for there being a gray wall that blocked view of the outside world. It quickly became apparent that Smith may never see the outside world from behind these walls. He didn't pay much attention to the prison warden's speech, the laughs, the sound of men yelping then being dragged away clutching onto their injury crying out of pain. 

He was handed a new prison uniform after walking in to the prison. It was a three piece jumpsuit. Black v-neck shirt, black pants, and orange long sleeved shirt set underneath the black uniform that had his prison number with his name set underneath it. His ankle cuffs were released and so were the hand cuffs that made his skin cry out of joy with the momentary freedom. He rubbed his wrist then stepped forward into the gray stall and closed the door behind him where he changed into it. He sneaked in his silver wrist watch and the grandfather's watch. Bitter reminders of what he had lost. The only physical reminder that he had left of his family that he could take with him around the prison. The silver wrist watch was slid into his pocket while changing as was the grandfather's watch. He tossed aside the orange jump suit and the white shirt with it. Truth be told, he was afraid. Very afraid about what laid ahead of him.

Smith was guided down the hall where he heard "BooOOoo!", demeaning shouts to his character, and the clattering of metal in the very first moment that he walked between the long halls of cells.

"You are a piece of shit!"

He held his head up high looking down the long cell block.

"Traitor!"

The small group came to a stop in front of what was presumably his cell.

"You asshole!"

The cell was less larger than the one in military prison and the bars were slid open.

"Perfect," Smith commented.

Smith slid the box on to the counter then the door behind him was closed. He looked over toward the much thinner, less wide window from across with larger bars that seemed thick to him. He could make this place a home. He observed the stale, white wall that had visible signs that there used to be posters hung here. He slipped the wrist watch out of his pocket then slid it onto his right wrist feeling the cold, prickly metal cling on to his skin. He tugged at the other sleeve uncurling it so that the red thin band couldn't be seen on the other side. Smith set up the series of books on the shelf making a quick organization. Smith sat down onto the cot then took out the watch and flipped it open to observe the Robinsons. A blanket of security and safety wrapped around the convict.

* * *

Smith sat down into the seat in the cafeteria. The yellow tray contrasted against the sampling of food. It wasn't the kind of food that he was familiar to eating on the Jupiter or in the military prison. Simple yet effective nutrition that wasn't anything fancy but heavily appreciated. There were hundreds if not thousands of prisoners in the cafeteria that seemed to be in the massive room. Smith felt a sense of normalcy and calm among a scenery that had mere background noise to his ears. He had a long, sad sigh with his gaze fixated on the orange plate. He finished off what was left of his dinner.

"The Robinsons were morons," drew his attention up.

Smith fixed his gaze a recent transference nicknamed Eyepatch.

"You meant to say that they were stupid at times," Smith said.

"No, they just were," Eyepatch said.

"I would take that back if I were you," Smith said.

"What are you going to do?" Eyepatch asked.

"Lie to him?" The bearded man beside Eyepatch added.

"Or are you going to blame this on a non-existent fire that consumed the Robinsons?" Eyepatch asked.

Smith was squeezing the eating utensil in his hand as his face was turning red.

"I would take that back if I were you," Smith said, warningly.

"There is no reason to," Eyepatch said.

Smith dropped his fork to the table with a clatter feeling rage traveling through his veins.

"That is ungentlemen like of you to insult the dead," Smith said.

"They were dead as soon as they let you let live with them," Eyepatch said.

"That they were," came the collective agreement.

Smith stood up from the chair wearing a cold, murderous gaze and got up from the seat.  The noise from the convicts engaged in discussion muted out the sound of Smith's boots lightly tapping the floor during the slow walk. The men were laughing ignoring the older man. Smith grabbed Eyepatch by the shoulder then made the young man turn toward him. He  threw a sucker punch at  Eyepatch's face knocking him down to the ground right off his seat. Eyepatch jumped up to his feet and threw one back at Smith who ducked the move then clasped his hands together smacked them against the man's chest knocking him back taking the breath right out of him stumbling back making several other criminals fall to the floor like dominos that had been hit.

Eyepatch's companions got up to their feet then charged at Smith. Smith's elbow jabbed the first man sending him staggering back. There was a blow to Smith's face sending him falling to the ground by the second man. In the next moment, Eyepatch was knocked down to the ground by another prisoner and wiped off a bit of blood from his lip. Eyepatch charged forward toward the man who had punched him.  Other prisoners got up to their feet joining into the fight. Smith got up to his feet then threw a punch back and dodged the next one. He twisted the arm of the man roughly his height when he ducked and went underneath the man's arm grabbing onto his hand then delivered a kick in the man's back knocking the prisoner down to the floor with a grunt.  Eyepatch appeared in the growing chaos that was circling around Smith. The slightly taller man had a angry look, a throbbing nerve on the side of his head, and he was rolling up his sleeves heading toward Smith. Smith walked back very quickly  into the line of security officers breaching through toward the prison brawl unfolding in the cafeteria.  
  
The grasp on his shoulders were unexpected and made him jump looking both ways feeling the increasing alarm raise up all over as his body and his mind shrieked in terror. Smith screamed in alarm, his flailing arms striking the face of the officers with a hard smack. His elbows followed, hitting them square in the face, as they released his shoulders in shock. His heart was racing as he turned around with his gaze on the mass of convicts in a dark blanket that had white and brown figures that contrasted against the uniforms. Smith punched out another officer grabbing onto a long short dark object then used it against the other security officer stepping back.

A hand grabbed onto his shoulder so he whipped around to face the person who grabbed on to him then struck them at the side of the face and lunged forward using his side to knock them down on to their back. He punched them out then looked over to face a flying fist headed his way that crashed against his cheek. Smith staggered back crashing against a prisoner fighting with a security officer. He ducked the next blow and watched the security officer be crashed against his attacker falling to the ground. A punch knocked him on to a empty seat. He faced the attacker reaching out to grab on the next fist and returned the favor with a rapid punch making the other prisoner fall on to the table with a groan. A feeling of triumph took hold on to him that lasted for a single moment. A stray metal object hit the back of his head then sent him falling to the ground. He looked up to see Eyepatch holding a tray. In the next moment, Eyepatch had fallen to his side in a slump beside the chairs replaced by a pissed off security officer.

"You're going into isolation for a week, you little shit,"

The last thing Smith saw was the long rifle headed toward his face then it was darkness.


	2. Anger and Denial

His eyes began to open. Acknowledging the dark gray theme to the halls that he was being guided down with stray fingers barely pressing against his skin. He held his head low with his gaze on the floor feeling his face aching. Those punches had done their fair share of damage leaving behind what was almost likely a bruise and a black eye that would heal over time. They came to a stop then the door was opened and he was shoved into the room. His back met the cold, rough surface then slid down to the long wide counter that protruded from the wall cupping his hands together in a defeated manner.

The camera moved toward the doorway. The door closed on Smith turning to pitch black screen then the door was opened again but to reveal a more aged Smith in his cell with his gaze fixated on the floor. He had silver hair, bags under his eyes, shades of dark gray from his youth was tucked around his ears, he had a dark gray mustache, and his hair bangs seemed fluffier. He looked over toward the person who had opened the door for him. His room lacked posters or lavish curtains but on the counter across from him were a collection of books that had yellowed pages. He turned his attention onto the female security officer then stood up using the cot as his support in some difficulty. The young woman came to his side and reached her hand out for him. Smith took her hand then allowed himself to be propped up to his feet.

"Thank you, dear. . ." Smith said, staring at her as though going through his memory. His eyes squinted at her name tag. The blue eyes visibly light up before her eyes that was momentary. "Ah, you're new here," he took his hand back linking it into his left hand in his lap. "Lieutenant Waltercoth." Waltercoth appeared to be heartbroken. "What is the matter?"

"For someone so old, why haven't you appealed your conviction?" Waltercoth asked. "Your case was very circumstantial."

"At my age, my dear," Smith said. "Everyone I have known is either dead or wants no part in being associated with me," he shook his head. "Even if my appeal was overturned, I wouldn't have any loved ones to help me to adapt to what it is like. . ." he motioned his eyes toward the window. "Out there."

"Or . . . Or a senior prison home for the convicted?" Waltercoth asked.

Smith turned his attention toward the woman.

"For a recent transferee, you seem to be very caring," Smith said.

"My greatest weakness," Waltercoth said. "It's your laundry shift."

"Laundry," Smith said. "Never can do enough of it." She wore a strange look.

Smith was escorted to the laundry room occupied with people. There were prisoners humming along to a very old song. Smith came to his familiar station that had multi purposed washer-dryer. Smith opened the lid to the machine then slid out the first black shirt from the mass. He hummed to himself a different tune that contrasted against the one being performed in the room. His new companion came beside him with a atmosphere that seemed to be unsettling making the hair on his skin stick up. Like he was standing beside a dangerous threat rather than a harmless being. Smith paused, looking over toward the man by his side and dropped the shirt to the table. The alarm bells rang in the had seen him only his eyebrows were much thicker and there was a small birth mark on the center of his forehead that reminded Smith of a tree. It seemed not a day had passed for the pilot. Not-Don turned his attention onto Smith.

Smith felt young with those familiar eyes set on him.

"What 'chya looking at, mister?" Not-Don wore the same irritated expression. His voice was different but it was enough to jerk him back into the present.

"You remind me of Major West," Smith said. "For a moment there, I thought he was really there."

Not-Don rolled his eyes.

"Everywhere I go, I get mistaken for him. I thought it was going to be different here. I get mistaken for that pilot, historic pilot, best pilot, well he's not the best pilot when I _keep_ **getting _compared_** to him," Not-Don's words were laced with bitterness, resentment, and anger. "he is the worst," Not-Don turned his attention on to Smith. "Joshua West," he took Smith's outreached hand and shook it a bit briefly then reached his hand back giving a friendly smile back. Joshua even had his father's smile. Smith's hand was trembling remaining outstretched. "Friends call me Franklin. Personally, I like to change my last name but it's the only thing I have left that my mother gave me."

"Hey, kid," Eyepatch said, drawing Franklin's attention. Eyepatch had two artificial eyes that were bright green, his once brown mustache had turned to gray that had turned into a well trimmed beard, and around his neck line were scars from previous fights that had occurred long ago. "Nice sob story."

"That isn't a sob story," Franklin said. "What is a sob story is how I got tossed into this hellshack."

"You're new here," Eyepatch said. "so let me warn you: Do not insult the crew of the Jupiter 2 around him."

Franklin looked toward the older man who returned to his task.

"I can insult them much as a I like," Franklin said. "Major West is more like Major Worse."

Smith dropped the shirt to the counter.

"You take that back, " Smith shifted toward Franklin leaning against the counter.

"I can't do that," Franklin said.

"You don't know him well enough to say that," Smith said. "You never spent the best half of a decade with him. You never seen him struggle keeping the family safe. He is not Major Worse, he is Major I-am-sucessful-and-I-want-you- **TO** - **DO** - **BETTER**."

"No," Franklin said. "I know he is my father. That is all I need to know. A big class idiot."

" _Take_. . _that_ . . . _back_ ," Smith repeated for emphasis, coming closer to Franklin.

"Ah, another fan," Franklin said. "One of _those_ people," Franklin picked up the shirt then folded it. "I rather not."

Thrown away and forgotten, just what the military wanted had succeeded. Just what everyone had wanted: never to have known the traitor Zachary Smith by first hand. He was a forbidden, suppressed figure from the public eye. Never to have been publicly wide known except for the Robinsons. And it didn't hurt him at all as it would have over twenty-one years ago. He wasn't forgotten by the aging inmates around him. They knew who he was. The ones who had been here the longest and were very aware of his crime. He had started to believe the story told by the prosecution himself over the last few years but the unexpected insults flared the memory of his passing into his mind. The reality of it hurt.

"Do you know who you are talking to," Smith raised his brows, calmly. "sir?"

"Yes," Franklin said, turning his head toward Smith. "One of those old people who followed the adventures of the Jupiter 2 very closely from Alpha Control." Smith didn't seem to be bothered. "Honestly, I still don't understand how and why he got all that assurance that he could pilot them out of danger-" There was a loud unexpected smack that ended the humming in the room and people turned from their stations to see what was the commotion. "Who _are_ you?"

"Zachary Smith," Smith said, watching the realization dawn on Franklin's face morph into silent rage. "and I will not stand that slander against his name."

Smith stepped aside.

"You bastard!" Franklin said.

Smith stepped back.

"There are better words in the dictionary to call a man," Smith said.

Rage was brewing off the younger man.

"You killed my father in cold blood," Franklin said, his right hand rolling into a fist then swung it at Smith.

"That. . . " Smith said, grabbing on to the man's hand. "I. did. not!"

Smith gained a grip on the side of the man's face and smacked his head against the table with a unchanged facial expression. Frank's head bounced up with a pained cry stumbling back. Smith delivered a punch to the man's face that whipped him around then fall to the floor. Smith stepped aside from the fallen man laid on the floor with his hands clasped together shaking his head. Franklin's eyes closed feeling blood trickling down from the side of his nose. When he opened his eyes, he was in the recovery wing with a bag of ice propped against his head. There were dirty looks being sent toward him with eyes being rolled. He was cuffed to the bed. Franklin hmphed turning his head away to face Eyepatch who had his eyes folded.

"Why the hell are you not cuffed?" Franklin asked.

"Smith is not worth your time," Eyepatch said. "and they trust me."

"Like they trust that sick old bastard with laundry?" Franklin asked, disgusted.

"They trust you with laundry," Eyepatch said.

"Because I have a history of good behavior," Franklin said. "Not my first rodeo."

"This is a different rodeo," Eyepatch said, then turned the chair toward him and sat down into it with his arms placed on the back rest. "Not everything is what _you_ think it is."

"That is just wrong," Franklin said.

"Kid," Eyepatch said. "Smith is in isolation."

"What he deserves," Franklin said.

"He will be out in a few days," Eyepatch said. "In your best interest, keep your negative opinions about Major West and the Robinsons to yourself around Smith."

"You don't know how it feels," Franklin said. "It's hard not to be angry around the man who murdered my father."

"I have a very good idea," Eyepatch said.

"What's your story?" Franklin asked.

"Robbed a bank, plead guilty, found guilty," Eyepatch said. "Found the bastard who killed my father and attacked him."

"Must have made you feel satisfied," Franklin said.

"It only lasted for a few minutes," Eyepatch said. "Then I felt horrible about it. Lost my first eye after being beat up. And it wasn't because of a fork jabbed into my eye contrary to what everyone says. That was the second eye." He had his hands cupped together. "It is hard to be happy about handing justice to a murderer when you're busy licking your wounds," he sighed. "That was different. He was about your age. Not in his _eighties_." The last part came out with a glare that said, _really? attacking a old man? What's wrong with you?_

"He is eighty something and he looks seventy," Franklin said, "You want me to believe he is in his _eighties_."

"This is one man who wants nothing more to suffer," Eyepatch said. "and no decency."

"I can give him that," Franklin said, earning a dark look from Eyepatch.

"Don't give him that," Eyepatch said. "Forget about him."

"That man isn't the kind to forget easily," Franklin said.

"Everyone outside has," Eyepatch said. "Why can't you?"

"You're asking me to forgive a man who murdered my father," Franklin said, earning a head shake from Eyepatch.

"I am not saying to forgive him," Eyepatch said. "We have all done nasty things out there. What I am saying is to ignore him. He is really fragile. A bad fall can just about kill him," he looked off toward the bed across from the young man imagining a scene from long ago occurring before his eyes. "I lost my second eye when I went too far insulting Professor Robinson's intelligence," Eyepatch turned his attention back on to Franklin. "It wasn't worth it ten years ago and it isn't worth it now."

"It's worth it to me," Franklin said. "I want to make his life hell. Just like he made it to me and my mother."

Eyepatch relaxed.

"Living hell doesn't require violence," Eyepatch said. "Ridicule him."

"How?" Franklin said.

Eyepatch picked up a padd.

"Professor Robinson's journal was digitized in 2012," Eyepatch said. "You will find it most helpful."

* * *

Rage was stewing in Franklin throughout the next five months. Just at seeing Smith walk around, alive and well, while his father could not. Being unable to ever communicate with him unlike the situation where he could in some way that had a time delay between the message being received and sent between the planets. Never know his thoughts on the problem that landed him into the justice system. Smith recognized the look of silently-suffering-in-anguish clearly on the man's face so he quietly avoided him and managed to use the system to his advantage, such as being using the section of the cafeteria reserved for inmates who had been serving in that specific prison for longer than ten years. Franklin could only see the back of Smith's head. Eyepatch later told him, "You are being shunned." It only made Franklin angry at the robbed opportunities of ridicule.

Not excluding picking a different spot to do the laundry assignment then getting reassigned to the education department much to Franklin's surprise and sticking around a large group of people at the court yard covered in tattoos who were very intimidating in build. They were marine veterans who liked peace and quiet. They did not like being put into violence. All of them were serving for a crime that not many of the inmates were aware of. Not even Smith. Franklin leaned against his cell door with his arms folded then took on a sigh. How long could the old man keep this up? If he had to guess, then it could very well be the last years of his undeserved long life. The most he could do was send Smith letters, but writing it on paper and being read didn't give the same satisfaction as watching the expression change on his face.

"Hey, Franky, you got a message from family," Sergeant Mayfower said.

"What?" Franklin said.

"Take it," Mayfower handed the small envelope to him.

Franklin took the letter then glanced down toward the envelope and ripped it open.

"Ah . . ." Franklin looked at it puzzled. "huh?"

There was a small device that fell out of the note which read:

 _Put it on_.

Franklin turned around returning into his cell then closed the door behind him. He sat down onto the bench. The device was small, gray, and rounded. It seemed one of those devices that could be used to commonly to connect ones mind into games. It had been a recent invention that had been rolling out over the years into the public. This one was even smaller compared to the most common connectors. He placed it on the side of his head then straightened up as his eyes glowed blue. He appeared in a office with a woman sitting at the front with a bobbed hair cut and large glasses that made her eyes stand out.

"Hello, Mr West, I am Amy," Amy said. "I am the head of Aeolian Incorp." she leaned forward cupping her hands together. "We like to use your service for a small matter."

"Why couldn't you approach me in person?" Franklin asked.

"We can't," Amy said. "Because the matter I want to discuss with you is something not anyone we have approached wanted to do."

"Who might this be?" Franklin asked.

"We have unfinished business with a certain former colonel," Amy said.

"I don't know any former colonels," Franklin said.

"He is the reason why your father is dead," Amy said.

"What do you want?" Franklin asked.

"We can take care of your ailing mother for the rest of her natural life in exchange that you send him to us," Amy said.

"I can't do that," Franklin said.

"You can," Amy said. "That device in your head is capable of morphing to the hand. It is in reality a transporter that works once. A single touch will send him to us into our custody. We have filed out the proper paperwork but the prison is stalling on the transfer throwing legal jargon our way."

"How much of her medical bills are you willing to pay?" Franklin said.

"Twenty-five thousand," Amy said.

"One million," Amy's eyebrows rose. "And more."

"Why?" Amy asked.

"You should know why since you know who I am," Franklin said. "She is facing the most debilitating, rare disease that is costing her everything everyday and her medical payments are running low by each passing hour. She won't have the money to pay for the life sustaining medicine that she needs until they find a cure which is projected to be in the next five years!" He stood up to his feet then placed his hands onto his hips pacing back and forth. He pinched his forehead lowering his head then came to a stop in front of her desk leaning forward with his hands on the surface. "I can't do this without assurance, if I fail or not, you will pay for the medical costs."

Amy grew a smile.

"That we can do, Mr West," Amy said. "It will be the best thing you done in your life."

"Whatever happens to him," Franklin sat down into the chair. "don't tie it to me."

"It won't," Amy said, then pressed a button. "Or if you like, you can do it yourself."

"That is not who I am," Franklin said, shaking his head.

Franklin returned to his body in the cell. He took off the device from his head and placed it into the palm of his hand where it submerged into his skin. There was a strange metal forming under his skin. There was a brief glint of gray that was displayed to his eyes. It was gone in the blink of a eye but he could still feel it spreading through his hand. He felt on the back of his hand. There was no metal spreading to the top of it. There was a quiet sting that erupted from his hand forcing the other hand back. He looked over toward the cell doors to his room closed his hand. Now, all he had to do was put that ridicule to use in his part in handing Smith off to a place that best suited him.

* * *

The next morning started out as typical. The inmates were sent to the cafeteria that was noisy as normal as the seats were being filled. Franklin clenched his hand into a fist repeatedly until he came over to the trays where he picked up one of the grayed ones. He looked over his shoulder down the line of other convicts. He couldn't see the target from the ridiculously long line ahead. He turned back toward the section of food that was left available to him. Portion by portion of the morning food was placed on then he headed in the direction that he had observed the table Smith sat at. He sat at the first table across from Smith, nearby and accessible. It was the perfect way that he could pull it off. He contemplated how it would go. Then again, it would still be linked to him had he done it without people around him. The plan had sounded great a day ago but now it didn't seem feasible. He could pull it off at the court yard if he could get close enough to Smith.

But how to get to him was another problem. He had to solve that one as well. Lying to Smith as he had lied to his father so often in the short time that he had known him. It felt poetic in many ways to Franklin. Facing his comeuppance in the form of his past was delicious enough as it was in his mind. The idea that he didn't need to spent the rest of his sentence in prison with the man behind his father's death felt satisfying. He didn't want to be in the same prison complex as that man. He remembered being a boy watching the live feed on the news. Smith coming down the stairs with MP's beside him. More MP's went into the Jupiter 2 to search for other survivors. Sitting in front of the tv set waiting for Major West to come down after being awakened from his cryostasis pod alive and well or from somewhere in the Jupiter 2 with the family. He never came down those stairs. Franklin remembered his mother's gasp that turned into a scream and dropping a plate to the floor that clattered into pieces. Weeping off and on throughout the month even after the conviction. She was angry, hurt, and emotional. He expected her to be happy regarding the conviction but she wasn't. Perhaps she was crying out of joy that Smith was convicted.

There was a loud audible hacking that stirred Franklin out of his train of thoughts. Familiar hacking that he stood nearby in the last few years that upgraded in severity. It was very alarming making him stand up from where he sat turning in the source of the hacking. He saw the hunched figure belonging to Smith turned away from the row of food, swaying in a unwell manner, cough out several red and rounded objects dripping in his blood to the floor. There was blood coming from the corners of his mouth. He seemed dazed and confused beginning to lose his balance as everything began to spin around him. Smith landed to the ground on to his side.

Several inmates surrounded the old man, "Hey, he just coughed out some spooky shit!"

Franklin made it from his seat toward the gathering crowd that circulated around the old man. Smith had a weak cough as several prison officers stood in the way guiding the prisoners out of the way. His fore head had a long cut from above his eyebrow that seemed to be newly formed bleeding away. Franklin was shoved aside as another officer came in through the line then knelt down toward Smith over the sounds of chaos. Smith was picked up like a fragile doll into the officers arms then carried out of the cafeteria. His plans were foiled for the time being. He couldn't help but overhear a conversation between two officers.

"That's the fourth time this month it has happened," Lieutenant Able said.

"It's getting worse," Brake said.

"I know," Able said.

"He was lucky that he didn't fall last time," Brake said, as the crowd's attention were sent back to eating. They were walking away toward their posts."

"We should watch him more carefully," Able said.

"Like a hawk?" Brake asked. "The same thing we've been doing for the last fifteen years."

"This man belongs in a hospital room not a prison," Able said.

"And do what?" Brake said, turning his head toward the graying woman. "They're going to cut him open and see nothing there." Brake looked toward Able. "I like him to get better, really, I do," he looked toward the spot where Smith would normally sit tearing his gaze off the prisoners that acted as background. "I get the feeling it is not visible to the human eye."

"Small, distinctive, but operable," Able said. "It's like a virus of some kind that has a connection to the brain even to the stomach. It could be a strand of space cancer," Brake turned his attention onto the woman. "That is the only way it will explain his sudden episodes of coughing. Medicine has changed since his last visit."

"I doubt that it can fix his unique problem," Brake said. "If not, just put on the back burner."

"It's going to be a riot if the warden doesn't allow medicine to take a chance," Able said.

"You say that as if he won't give a go ahead," Brake said. "He is going to be stitched up and be put on bed rest for the next twenty-four hours."

"There could be a actual riot. They know something is wrong with him, I swear it, I can feel it in my bones, Sergeant," Able said. "And he has a history of letting people deathly ill on a life sentence not get medical treatment after they expressly asked or their doctors have asked."

"Ssssh," Brake held up his hand. "Let's talk about this outside of the cafeteria."

"Like anyone wants to hear the bad news," Able said, folding her arms. "Krystal won't want to hear it."

"That the chances of Smith dying on her watch are stacked against living?" Brake said, in a very low voice. "I know," Brake sighed. "I just, I just, I just don't know how to tell her."

Franklin heard enough turning his attention off coming back to his seat. He had moved silently among the moving crowd making sure not to bring attention to himself. It came as a advantage to his line of work. A sniper, a assassin, and a man for hire. Some doubt seeded into his mind regarding playing his part. Did he really want to hand a ailing old man over to a incorporation that might put him under conditions that were harsh? With all things considered, given his crime and part in his father's death, it was just the harshness that he deserved. Time was dwindling regarding placing his hand on Smith's shoulder.

And soon, it would be out of his control. Thrown back into the helpless position watching from above on a bridge the visual of his mother floating away in a rapidly moving river. Something that he couldn't step in and attempt to manipulate at the smallest detail to go the way he wanted when it came to his mother. It wouldn't matter what he wanted as soon as it was out of his control. He had so little time to give Smith to his old employers. A race against the clock. He placed his hand under his chin staring down at the prison food, contemplating his problem and how to best approach it. A reliable man always found ways to keep his end of the bargain.

Should he continue what he had started? What he had promised? The chances were spelled out quite blatantly. What he wanted didn't matter. It was out of his control. Something that couldn't be manipulated regarding the fate of his mother. He was helpless. He felt like a vulnerable chick watching its mother be washed away in a great flood while up in safety. He couldn't give the incorporation what they wanted. The idea of never seeing Smith again in the same prison was very ideal through his way or the way of life handling the situation. It was the best way to spend the rest of his sentence. It was the perfect way to spend his life. He wasn't going to miss the old man. He doubted that anyone outside of prison were going to miss _him_.

* * *

"So what did he puke?" The warden asked, wearing a pair of see through gloves as he squeezed the red ball that seemed to be made of net material.

"I can't be exactly sure," Doctor Howard replied. "It could be blood clots."

"And blood clots form in the stomach?" The warden asked, tearing his gaze off the ball toward the doctor.

"Yes, sir," was the polite reply.

The Warden dropped the ball into the small vial.

"And what about other injuries?" Warden moved the vial forward.

"He has a cut on his head and a hip fracture," the vial was handed back. "He will be fine in three months with proper surgery. . ." a glare was sent his way. "If we don't have the funding for that then all he needs is to be bed ridden for 5 months."

"But the balls," The warden said. "Is it a threat to the inmates in here?"

"No one has showed signs of it," Howard said. "My military friend sent back the results."

"And?" The warden asked.

"Unknown material," Howard said.

"I need to know if he needs hospice care or just a operation to fix the problem," The warden said.

"It could be just a flare up of those bumps decorating his torso," Howard replied. "We can't do much from here. And it will be very expensive just to find out what is going on inside of the patient."

The warden stood up then walked over toward the window and moved aside the curtains.

"The last time he was in a hospital," the warden said. "That was fifteen years ago and it was a waste of everyones resources." The warden sighed, bitterly, then faced the direction of Howard. "So, Howard, is it worth my resource?"

"If you're interested in keeping this prison on the green light and not one of those corrupt prisons," Howard said. "then I would say it is unless. . ."

"Unless?" The warden narrowed his eyes toward the doctor.

"Unless the situation gets worse from there for the inmate or can't be helped," Howard said. "Right now, my patient is puking more balls into a bucket set between his legs, scared, terrified, and when he looks at me. . ."

"You see your dementia ridden father looking at you," The warden finished. "That's touchy. You should step back from it."

"I can't," Howard said. "I am the only doctor in this prison. The only way he can be handed over to a different doctor. . ."

"Is to send him to the hospital," The warden finished. The phone rang from beside him so the warden picked it up and placed it to his ear. "Hello, this is the warden," he nodded his head turning his gaze onto the doctor and lowered the phone down onto the table. "I am putting him into the hands of the hospital system and let them figure it out from there."

"What happened down there?" Howard asked, concerned standing up from the chair.

"He just puked up a large ball onto a officer," the warden said. "Go, before I change my mind on this costly operation!"

Howard nodded and left the room leaving the warden behind as he took off the gloves.

Howard made his way to the hospital wing of the prison speeding past nurses and inmates. He arrived to the scene where Smith was laid on his side with a large trail of blood spilling down the side of the cot. The cot was covered in it so was the flood that had a large clump of a unusual mass. "Get a gurney, he is being transported to the hospital for a major operation and someone call the hospital van!" Two nurses left the room to search for the gurney. Howard moved aside the blanket covering the man and picked up the large tub of blood and curly balls. The CDC had to be called in. There was no way around it and it could draw out the military in some way. A easy regret from the military not handling one of their own. The gurney was slid forward beside him. Howard and another nurse placed the man onto the bed and moved out of the recovery wing. Smith's hand fell off the side with blood trickling down his fingers leaving a trail behind.

The hospital van was up and ready for the transport. The gurney was moved on inside then Smith's wrists were cuffed to the rails by Waltercoth and Lieutenant Bashir. The doors were slammed shut then a hand slammed against it in a way knocking against the surface signaling 'go, go, go'. A bright red neck brace was added in a rush around Smith's neck during the ride to the hospital going over several of the bumps. Waltercoth picked up a bottle of water while sitting beside Smith. A pained groan escape from the old man, and a soft voice came forth, "W-w-w-w-water, please." Waltercoth was shaking her head.

"I can't do that," Waltercoth said. "It might be detrimental to your health."

Smith's eyes were glancing both ways.

"Where am I?" Smith loudly asked, his eyes darting from side to side. "What is going on-Ow, my hip. It hurts! What is happening to me?"

"You are in the hospital transport van," Waltercoth said. "You have a serious health problem."

"It's a waste of everyone's time," Smith said.

"It isn't, Mr Smith," Waltercoth said.

"There is nothing wrong with me!" Smith cried. "Just like last time! There is NOTHING wrong with me! NOOOTTTTHHHHIINNG!" He squeezed his eyes shut then opened them to face the dimming light from the center of the hospital prison transport. "I am a waste of resources."

Waltercoth shook her head.

"Not to us, you're not," Waltercoth said. "Not to us."

Smith closed his eyes, painfully, tears forming along the edges of his eyes.

"I want to go home," Smith wept, feeling the tears coming down. "I just want to go _home_."

Smith coughed, loudly, spitting out several red balls. The red balls flew into the air then came to the tip of the neck collar and rolled down to the bottom. Bashir put on a pair of blue gloves then slid the balls into a baggy as the convict cried even harder. It only made him cough more frequently and spit out the red curled balls of unknown mass. Bashir placed a hand on the man's left hand and squeezed it speaking to him in a hushed tone. The erratic breathing, sobbing, and ball spitting decreased. Waltercoth looked up toward the light brow woman and listened in carefully to overhear soft singing. Waltercoth turned her attention up toward the monitor noticing his vitals were returning down to normal. She visibly relieved, her shoulders falling, and her eyes grew light. She closed her eyes with a sigh.

Smith coughed out a ball that bounced against the neck brace and landed into Bashir's gloved hand. He gently fluttered his eyes close until small, calm snores were coming. There was bitterness in the air with their gazes fixed on the resting man. The officers shared a gaze. Bashir shook his head and Waltercoth looked down toward the man shaking her head. Waltercoth sighed, closing her eyes, nodding her head in acceptance. They went over the occasional bumps. The CDC arrived to the recovery wing taping off the area where Smith had once laid quarantining it for the time being. The warden was being chastised by a woman in a protectionary gear as the recovery staff were being hosed down as a precaution. The hospital was being prepared for the operation while Bashir had a small object placed on the man's stomach underneath the prison outfit and Waltercoth relayed what was on the screen over the padd during the ride.

The hospital van came under the cloak of spreading night arriving toward the city sparkling in lights. The van came to a stop at the entrance to the hospital and the doors were swung open by two nurses. Smith's eyes flipped open as he was being moved from the van to another building. The bright lighting from the roof that held over the prison hospital van. His eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness brought in to a friendly orange and green scenery. There were voices belonging to figures from above him that sounded indistinct and alike. Smith was trembling on the gurney feeling unwell. He coughed, repeatedly, earning alarmed shouts and swearing. He felt something large lodge into his throat. Struggling to dislodge it, he gasped for air experiencing the familiar gut that he was going to die. His vision started to dim over the alarm of the medical professionals.

Smith was shifted onto his side and a hard slap was delivered against his back. He saw something red and large fly out landing against a light blue fabric that it rolled off falling to the ground. There was a familiar object placed on his mouth as he was placed on his back. His throat felt free and he savored every breath of air that he could get. His eyes closed feeling calm sweep over his figure and his hands gripping on the bed sheets went loose. His prison uniform was carefully cut off and tossed aside into the trash. The doors to the operation room were closed off with machinery that let them do their work. The initial cuts into his body were made. There was two gray and black boxes set beside Smith's thighs that appeared to be unnaturally formed in a way that showed the extent of the hip fracture. The box was opened to reveal prosthetic metal bones, contrary to what the warden in mind: a simple repair of the hips, that glinted and shined against the lighting in the room.

The camera followed the long arm to a surgeon continuing the cut down to his stomach. It was done with great care and tenderness cleaning around the wound making sure the blood didn't get in the way. The stomach was carefully opened to reveal it was line with curly red shapes. The surgeon looked up from the scene toward the other professionals with a look of awe. The gloved hands carefully cut the curly red hair like structures off the stomach then dropped them into the bowl where it rested sloppily. It was placed on the weight where it went down outweighing a simple pack of cigarettes. The stomach was peered into to find several small balls that stuck to the surface of the stomach. Delicately the foreign balls were removed with some resistance at first. Their long fibers were like hooks digging into the skin and it required some tugging at it to make it go loose. The final fiber was dropped into the bowl.

* * *

"So Miss Waltercoth," Franklin said, approaching the woman in the prison library center. Waltercoth looked up from the borrowed novel toward the man, "How was the surgery?"

"Mr Smith pulled through," Waltercoth said, then grew a touched look. "You care about him."

"No, no," Franklin said, shaking his head. "I am just curious, that's all."

"Is it because he is the only one who knew your father?" Waltercoth said.

"Not really," Franklin said. "I don't have any interest to hear about him."

"Crash and burned," Waltercoth said.

"You can say that," Franklin said.

"Being compared to him so much you don't want to hear his name," Waltercoth said.

"You got it right," Franklin said. "I made a name for myself and a legacy. A good one."

"Did it land you here?" Waltercoth said.

"Yes," Franklin said.

"That's not something to be proud of, Mr West," Waltercoth said.

"Franklin, please," Franklin said. "Well, Miss Waltercoth, it is something to be proud of."

"Just why?" Waltercoth said.

"They ripped me off," Franklin said.

"How bad was it?" Waltercoth asked.

"Ripped me off real good. Said they were going to cover for my mother," Franklin said. "They didn't. I expected them to swoop in and take care of the rising medical costs. They didn't. I expected them to be her shining knights in armor to help her fight against the dragon. I expected them to play a part in what we were fighting against. They didn't. They killed several friends of mine who were investigating what was going on and tried to help me." he sighed turning his gaze up toward the listening intently officer. "I blew up." he shook his head. "I couldn't stand by any longer so I went on a rampage searching for the mafia boss responsible for giving that order. Then I killed the members of the group who promised that they would cover for my mother's costs. Mind you, this was done in one night. I only got caught because I let the police."

There was a lengthy silence between them.

"How did you know they killed your friends, Franklin?" Waltercoth asked.

"Because I was there," Franklin said. "At the diner," the background noise of screaming and shooting was overheard as he wore a long distant gaze on his face included with glass shattering. "I could have set up a gofundme page now that I think of it. No one would have died that way, but my mother had family in the mafia. Mafia takes care of its own."

"Boy, that sounds really tough," Waltercoth said, out of pity.

"It was," Franklin said. "So, how long is it going to be that be will be back?"

"A couple week at most," Waltercoth said. "Recovery will take awhile for him."

"Weeks?" Franklin said. "That will be forever."

"No," Waltercoth said. "It will be the most terrifying experience that he has had."

"And space isn't?" Franklin raised his eyebrows.

"He won't remember why he is there," Waltercoth said. "He has a case of dementia."

"Bad?" Franklin said, leaning back from the table.

"I have been stationed here for two years," Waltercoth said. "and he forgot me."

"Oh," Franklin said.

"Yes," Waltercoth said.

"So, if I were to meet him again," Franklin said.

"He would mistake you for your father," Waltercoth said. "Old age is heartbreaking."

Franklin folded his arms with a sigh.

"Thought I could give him hell," Franklin said. "Sounds like he _is_ living it."

"Not to him," Waltercoth said. "Just to those around him." The woman looked at him, tilting her head. "Why are you curious about the man who murdered your father?" She narrowed her green eyes in his direction.

"I like to know how much he has been suffering behind bars," Franklin said, unfolding his arms sliding The Great Gatsby in front of him from the pile of books set beside him organized neatly. "I heard he wants the suffering," the young man grunted with a sigh. "What a masochist." he shook his head, disgusted. "Thrown in to have a sad, miserable life and he is having the time of his life."

Waltercoth stood up to her feet sliding the chair back.

"A guilty conscience wants to be be punished accordingly," Waltercoth said, then moved the book back into the book shelf. "You don't deserve to know."

"Why don't I?" Franklin asked.

Waltercoth sighed, lowering her head, then faced his direction.

"He is the wrong person to care about," Waltercoth said. "He is on his way out. That's what you need to know."

"Close to clocking out. . . " Franklin said. "I have seen old people at death's door and he isn't ready."

"He is not worth time," Waltercoth said.

There it was again, 'Not worth your time' had been said rather indirectly.

"What if he is worth _my_ time?" Franklin asked, as she walked away.

Waltercoth came to a stop at the doors then turned toward him.

"He isn't," Waltercoth said, then turned away and walked out of the library. "He just isn't. And it's Krystal."

Franklin leaned into the chair clasping his hands together onto his lap squeezing them together ever so tightly.

 _He is_ , the thought echoed in his mind, _he is_.

* * *

Smith awoke feeling a tinge of pain from his thighs that was soft and dull. He opened his eyes to see a pink object set between his legs. There was a tray of food placed in front of him with jello. He had hospital food once, and it was a experience that he rather not have repeated. He stretched himself forward and slid the tray toward him. There was a click of metal from the rails beside him and a ache along his wrist. He looked over to see the cuffs. Hardly a unexpected sight. The food was placed in hands reach. He slid it closer to his chest where it was far as the tray could go. The door to his room opened letting in a young doctor reading a padd.

"Good morning, Mr Smith," Smith looked up to observe the doctor wore a dark purple hijab that sparkled against the light. "I am your doctor."

"Morning, doctor," Smith greeted her, with a smile.

It wasn't a happy smile.

It was a smile that he used commonly to assure people around him.

It was a smile that he had refined since the loss of the Robinsons. The kind of smile that he was capable of emulating before the lift off and toy with on his missions to his leisure. A part of his routine was one could say. A fake smile, all in all, but one that couldn't be mistaken for a fake. The woman seemed happy from his reply. She was in a yellow suit with a helmet on the front that displayed her calm, easy going expression. She reminded him of a certain major that he knew during his career. One that he had the most bitter opportunity to kill to keep his cover as a hired spy to sabotage the Jupiter 2's mission. Major Ahmad, it all came back to him. Forcefully and regretfully. He compared their faces, slight differences but otherwise they bore a strong resemblance to each other separated by time.

"The surgeons were able to remove the unknown mass spreading inside of your stomach," the muslim doctor said. "After the surgeries, they performed a brain scan to determine if it was in your head. There is set to be another surgery next week to remove the spreading mass in the hypothalamus. Unfortunately, you are going to be in quarantine for the next few days. You will spend most of your recovery in the hospital with or without suits."

"Do you know who I am?" Smith raised his eyebrows.

"My patient," the muslim doctor said.

"I am more than that," Smith said. "Robinsons, Jupiter 2, B-9 Robot, does that ring a bell?"

The muslim nodded.

"They died in a asteroid crash," the muslim doctor said.

Smith's attention turned toward the large circular window.

"They died in a powerful blast but it wasn't a asteroid," Smith said. "I knew your father, _Doctor_ Ahmad."

The muslim stiffened and her demeanor changed.

"You're _that_ Smith," the muslim doctor said.

Smith turned his attention off the blinds toward the woman.

"Who else is there walking around with 'Mr Smith' these days honorably?" Smith asked, irritably. "No one."

The muslim stepped back.

"I can't be your doctor," the muslim doctor said.

Smith nodded in return.

"I understand, doctor," he turned his head toward the doctor. "You should go now." And that's what she did.

Smith looked over to see a pocket watch laid on the counter beside him.

* * *

Another small, folded letter was handed to Franklin. He ripped it open while seated on his cot and carefully placed it on the side of his face. He appeared in the same office that he had been earlier. Only, Amy wasn't there. He walked up and observed the futuristic skyscrapers. It had to be a holographic representation of what the incorporation wanted as a whole to improve society. He rubbed his chin, finding himself delighted by the imagery. Flying cars, flying trucks, and flying vans. He looked up toward the clouds tinged by orange belonging to the sun casting over groups of clouds overseeing the scenery of a ocean. It had to be set somewhere by the shore. There was a soft, low beep from behind him belonging to the doors. He turned in the source of the noise to see Amy.

"What brings you back here, Mr West?" Amy asked.

"I need you to start the payments," Franklin said. "He won't be out of the hospital in a week."

"He finally had a bad fall," Amy said. "That's bad timing."

"Not exactly resilient as he used to be," Franklin said.

"Aren't we all at old age?"Amy asked.

"Yes, we will be," Franklin said.

"We need him to be transported this week to our custody," Amy said. "Your request can't be carried out." "

"How do you expect me go get him when he is in a hospital?" Franklin said.

"You are a reliable man, I am sure you can find a way," Amy said.

"But I need help,"Franklin said. "I can't do this alone."

"'I will give you one hint that you could pull this off," Amy said. "Impersonate a officer. With a hat."

"I don't know what hospital he is in," Franklin said.

"Why don't you ask tonight?" Amy asked, as Franklin walked around the desk keeping a eye on her.

"Listen," Franklin said, sitting on the edge of the table. "If I get thrown into isolation and your deadline passes without Smith," he cupped his flattened hands together placing them under his lips then gestured them toward Amy. "it's all your fault."

"I understand that risk," Amy said.

"And this isn't because it's nearing the anniversary of the Jupiter 2 launch," Franklin said.

"A family left that week and never returned," Amy said. "It would be fitting if that happened to our employee."

"It would," Franklin said, placing his hands into his lap.

"Good luck, Mr West," Amy said, placing a button on her wrist watch.

The visual of the office sunk away replaced by a dark gray cell wall that was decorated in posters.

* * *

"Hey, Eyepatch," Franklin approached the man at the court yard.

"Yes?" Eyepatch looked up from the poetry book.

"Do you got a friend who can mess up with . ." Franklin gestured toward the building ahead. "The security thing."

Eyepatch furrowed his eyebrows.

"Yes," Eyepatch said, concerned. "What's going on?"

"Smith is in a lot of trouble," Franklin said. "And he needs your help."

"No, he isn't," Eyepatch said. "The last time he was in trouble was. . . A long time ago."

"I was contacted by his last employers," Franklin said. " _twice_."

"His employers," Eyepatch said. "Did you say no?"

"I said no," Franklin said.

"Phew," Eyepatch grew relieved.

"They are going to try killing him tonight with a hired assassin," Franklin leaned against the wall with his hands cuffed then pointed toward the sky. "And I would tell the warden but since Smith and I have a at best tedious reputation when together. . ." he lowered his hand from the cloud that resembled a dog. "That's a big problem. I want to stop it, but I need help getting out and getting transported to the hospital. I know assassins better than police do. The killer will slip on past them."

"You want to escape," Eyepatch said.

"To save a man's life," Franklin said. "He should be in a maximum security prison that isn't-"

"Minimum," Eyepatch said.

"Maximum is more safer," Franklin said.

"The warden is considering it," Eyepatch said.

"How do you know?" Franklin asked.

"The guards talk about it more often than before," Eyepatch began. "I think they're just telling me that to give him the heads up. We are not close or anything." Eyepatch glanced up toward Franklin. "He doesn't start brawls like he used but he is willing to defend himself should the opportunity brings itself up. Listening to the radio, reading, and living in his fantasy is far better than being thrown into the recovery wing then into isolation. Super max was awful on him fifteen years ago after his explainable episode where he beat up three newbies when I was sick. Everyone's account is different, all over the board, so it is hard to tell what happened. No one knows why he did it but he did it."

"But you know why," Franklin said.

"I guess why," Eyepatch said. "He was triggered."

"Triggered," Franklin laughed. "Triggered!" He shook his head.

"During a very strange experience," Eyepatch said. "he was using the bricks as his guide and he had his eyes closed."

"You're just being silly," Franklin said. "He was just playing his typical act."

"Typical act?" Eyepatch repeated. " _Typical_?" He glared toward Franklin. "You don't know him much less your father."

"I know what I need to know," Franklin said.

"You have seen the bio tv series about the Robinsons lost in space?" Eyepatch asked.

"It was on for half a decade," Franklin said. "I enjoyed the tv movies that centered about on their longer adventures."

"We never seen it but the newbies talk about it plenty enough to get a good picture of how they portray him," Eyepatch elaborated. "He didn't play that act before the random episode. It was out of his character and there was something genuinely wrong with him. He claimed to be seeing red fiber like hooks in his vision. Doctors couldn't find them or see them upon examination. Smith couldn't explain why _he_ could see after the episode was over. And when he heard that phrase 'confess', surrounded by three young women, what do you think happened?"

"He confessed to killing people," Franklin guessed.

"No," Eyepatch said.

"Then what did he confess to?" Franklin asked.

"He didn't," Eyepatch said.

"What. . . what did he do?" Franklin asked, concerned.

"Everyone agrees that he became still," Eyepatch said, slowly lifting his index finger up. "Everyone agrees on one chain of events. A woman to the left sent Smith into the arms of another woman. The second woman grabbed his shoulders tightly and that's when he started to fight for his life. That is the moment when hell began to break out of the dam. He fought them and plead for help even clawed into their skin. Inmates came to his aid which made a very big prison brawl happen. Smith was separated from the commotion very carefully by my friends to regain his bearings. They acted like a chain getting him to a corner of the courtyard that didn't have a fight. He was hysterical. In order to calm him down, before sending him to the hospital, they sent him into the cat room. Several inmates were sent into isolation." There was long silence coming from Franklin. _  
_

"Sounds like he went through some torture before he came here," Franklin said.

"He never talks about his experience out there without the Robinsons," Eyepatch said, pointing toward the sky. "Much less his initial prison stays. He could have been tortured. We just don't honestly know. Perhaps it's best that we don't. There is a lot of things that weren't covered in the tv show."

"Not even how the Robinsons died," Franklin said.

Eyepatch shook his head.

"They ended the series on the Robinsons's last diary entry as a movie last year," Eyepatch said. "All smiles and laughs at Smith. It was even broadcast as a teleplay on the radio for a limited time in prison . . ." Eyepatch grew a sympathetic look then glanced up toward the younger man. "That was the first time and last time I saw Smith cry in public in years. Heard he cried himself to sleep that night."

Franklin nodded, understandingly.

"Mr Smith needs to get out of the hospital and sent somewhere safe," Franklin said. "I know some buddies of mine who would be willing to make the trip to a doomsday bunker where he could satay for awhile and make his full recovery from there."

"What has changed, kid?" Eyepatch asked. "You wanted to give him hell months ago. He could face hell face first."

"I can't really say," Franklin said. "But I could use a ride to the hospital."

"Why don't you go ask Krystal?" Eyepatch asked. "She would do it in a heartbeat when it comes to Smith."

"Like to," Franklin said. "I don't want to be found out so easily."

Eyepatch nodded.

"I get that," Eyepatch said. "So what time do you want this to all start?"

* * *

The power went out in the prison at 11:58 PM.

That was known by the sound of cell doors opening in the night.

Franklin's eyes darted in the direction of the door and got up to to his feet. He took off the prison clothing to reveal the stolen prison officer outfit underneath and rolled the clothing into a ball as he made his way into the crowded prison hall that was full of inmates standing around wondering what was going on. He made it to the door putting on a hat that he lower to shield his face. It was hard to believe that things were going as he had expected. He slipped past several prison officers with head lowered and came out of the prison. It was a very elaborate escape plan full of deceit. He could deal with isolation, being chastised, the dirty looks from the inmates around him, and his mother getting to have another chance at continuing to live a pain free life. The last few years had been rough on her and more importantly on his step-father. He could deal with the look of betrayal from Waltercoth.

Franklin bolted into the passenger side seat and closed the door beside him.

"Go!" Franklin said.

"I'm going, goiing-and gone," Waltercoth sped off from the prison heading toward the city. "Mind telling me why I just found out that his old employers have been trying to kill him for the last thirty years?"

"If Mister Smith is as fragile, old, and threatened _constantly_ ," Franklin replied. "He would have been put into a super max years ago."

"Kept there, eating alone, sitting alone in his cell, not being sent around to work, no social interaction asides to one hour a day in the in-door courtyard, and never being able to see the sky again . . . ." _A typical human would find it a fate worse than death_ , was what Waltercoth was trying to say. "But he would live."

"Right that he would," Franklin said, turning his attention on to her. "He has a abnormal tendency to get out of harms way."

"You mean to say that he is lucky," Waltercoth said.

"Suppose I am," Franklin said. "For thirty years, they've been told no to take care of their unresolved issue and this time, someone said yes. Only from the outside."

"How do you know about the hired assassin?" Waltercoth said.

"They told me," Franklin said. "Wanted me to know that it was going to be handled after I turned their request down."

"So bad you wanted to avoid it," Waltercoth said.

"He doesn't deserve that way to die," Franklin said.

"What do you think?" Waltercoth asked.

"Alone in a cold room," Franklin said. "Like Major West."

"Like you will be," Waltercoth said. "You have a-what? A sentence that goes over one thousand years?"

"Unlike Smith, I can get parole," Franklin said.

Waltercoth leaned forward then pressed on several buttons on the radio.

"You mean that you can get out," Waltercoth said. "Can you tell the parole board with a straight face that you regret what you did?"

"Yes," Franklin said.

"Can you see yourself doing it?" Waltercoth asked.

"Not right now," Franklin said.

"Someday, you _will_ ," Waltercoth said, then turned the volume up.

* * *

It was true that Franklin didn't know his father, Smith, or any member of the Robinsons. He never got to know any members of the Jupiter 2 party face to face. Had they survived and flourished on Alpha Centauri, he would never have no desire to be angry at his father for dying. He would have had a chance to _know_ him. Being compared to his father throughout his life left him with a good idea of West's character in biased opinion. But the episode lengthy tv show _Lost in Space_ was a nice refresher from the good qualities mentioned time and time again. Then again, for all Franklin knew that take on him might have been fictional and highly not accurate as a character on a whole. What Franklin did know from the journal that collaborated what the tv show had shown time and time again was that his father did not always get along with Smith. They cooperated when it came to getting out of a problem that either one of them had made themselves. Unraveling the problem seemed dire on the flat screen but when it came to getting out of the problem it was like unraveling a entire shirt with one unending thread that fell wherever it may be. Franklin wondered what was the planets were like out there in space with his eyes gazing out the window.

Franklin wondered if all the class m planets out there were all green and less at a civil unrest unlike Earth. Wilderness to the human eye featuring unknown plants and animals flourishing that had never been named, studied, or observed for that matter. Nor domesticated. Or alien threats fought in combat. The take on the Jupiter 2's crew facing all that in space had done the initial exploration regarding those subjects filming on different parts of Earth that seemed alien at first glance and from a different world not from home. He can see the bright small planets that stood out among the blanket of stars. He wondered what his father thought looking out the window and seeing unfamiliar constellations ahead of him. Uncertain? Scared? Helpless? Alone? He wasn't alone, not entirely. According to the journal, Don had integrated himself as a valuable member of the family.

The city grew closer and closer to the young man's eyes replacing the sight of space. His eyes down cast toward the towers that was decorated in yellow lights. The camera flew between the buildings to reveal some of the rooms radiating in colorful lights that highlighted the space above the shapes of dancing figures. It flew down toward the surface of the street hurling back into the car. Franklin rolled down the window then let the prison hat fly out into the street and rolled it back up. Franklin tapped his fingers on the arm rest rather impatiently. Music echoed behind him in the background that Waltercoth was loudly singing along to. His eyes gazed up toward the projecting holograms that stood out from the center of buildings, to the sides, and from the rooftops that were in constant motion standing out to the human eye. They were getting closer and closer to the hospital. That was certain once Franklin saw a holographic sign that read 'Turn left ahead for Hospital'. Waltercoth was swinging her shoulders from side to side enjoying herself. She parked into a lot then put up a blue and white item on the review mirror. Franklin observed that she had parked in the disabled parking lot.

"What do you have?" Franklin asked, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Chronic anxiety," Waltercoth replied.

"Do you have a fidget spinner?" Franklin asked.

"No," Waltercoth said, while Franklin took a small object out of his pocket. "I keep forgetting to buy it."

"This will be more useful to you than it is to me," Franklin said, handing it to Waltercoth. "Found it earlier when I was changing."

"I know every officer in the facility and not one uses a fidget spinner," Waltercoth said, holding the fidget spinner in her hand visibly confused as Franklin opened the door and came out of it.

"Now you have a mystery that must be solved," Franklin said.

Waltercoth slipped out of the car, took the keys, then shut the door and made her way over to the back seat. She opened the door then took off the buttoned up gray shirt and replaced it for a pink shirt and slipped off her long pants to reveal that she was wearing khaki's underneath. She tossed the clothes to the floor then picked up the bag and peered in to see the roll of clothes that Franklin had tossed in to the bag during the ride. A secret stash of Smith's prison outfit. She lifted the bag out of the car then pressed on a small square device that she aimed up dipped toward the car and small beeps came from it. Franklin took off the gray jacket tossing it into the passenger seat and put on a white shirt that he buttoned up quickly then tucked in. He closed the passenger side door then jogged after Waltercoth coming to her side. The doors slipped open automatically before the duo then in they went.

* * *

"Mr Smith, Mr Smith, Mr Smith!" came a young woman's voice drawing the man out of his slumber in alarm.

Smith's eyes opened to face a young woman with a face decorated in visible freckles and two marks along her nose.

"I am getting you out of here, get changed," His eyes closed and opened at the unfamiliar face. "I am a concerned third party."

"Where am I?" Smith asked. "Why do my hips hurt?" She tucked the bed away and yanked the object from between his legs. "What is happening?"

"You are going to need help getting dressed," Waltercoth said. "You had a double hip replacement."

"A double. . . hip. . . replacement?" Smith's eyes grew big then reached out grabbing on to the nearby pocket watch beside him.

"Yes, sir," Waltercoth replied, handing him the change of clothes. "I can turn around if you like to deal with that . . ." she gestured toward the catheter coming from below the hospital outfit. "little thing."

"Madame, you're too kind," Smith said. "Please do."

Waltercoth turned around.

"Do you remember your employers?" Waltercoth asked.

"Yes, truly awful people," Smith yanked off the hospital gown then tossed it to the side.

"About them. . " Waltercoth started, Smith put on the orange shirt. "they are trying to kill you."

Smith put on the familiar black v-necked tunic looking on toward the woman

"It has been twenty years and they think it is time to take care of loose ends. . ." Smith said. "Twenty years too late," he shook his head then slipped on the pair of dark socks onto his feet hiking them up. He leaned to his side. "Trying to beat a old dog when it is already beaten up and spat on as it is."

Waltercoth closed her eyes, painfully.

"Are you finished?" Waltercoth asked, opening her teary eyes lifting her head up with a sniffle.

Smith placed a hand on his knee looking on toward Waltercoth and became still.

"Is there something the matter, madame?" Smith asked, concerned.

She wiped off the growing tears from her eyes.

"I am fine, Mr Smith," Waltercoth said, Smith moved the pocket watch into the pant pocket.

"Then I am need help putting my boxers on," Smith said, moving one leg at a time to the edge of the bed. He heaved a sigh once getting his right leg on the edge. "I can do the rest sliding it up over these legs."

Waltercoth grew a fond smile.

"I am sure you will," Waltercoth said, taking out the white briefs.

She slipped them on to his legs toward his knees and Smith yanked it forward. As it turned out, Smith did need help putting on the boxers all the way. Waltercoth worked with Smith to put on the black pants then loop the familiar black belt around his waist. Smith felt along the familiar square silver buckle. It felt cold and smooth not warm and rough as it had a long time ago. The association of the texture had changed to him. The familiar short prong fit in easily into the hole where it rested against the buckle. He took Waltercoth's out stretched hand then lifted himself forward and clasped his other hand onto their hands. She lightly placed a hand on and she helped him up to his feet. Smith propped himself against her shoulder keeping himself up to his feet.

"Who told the authorities about the Aeolians?" Smith asked.

"He did," Waltercoth said.

Silver light poured into the room as the door slid open to reveal a living image of Don West.

" _Major_!" Smith exclaimed, joyfully.

Sad, lonely blue eyes began to light up as his hand let go of Waltercoth's hand on the verge of tears.

"Major!" Smith said. "You are alive! You are alive! You are alive!"

" _Smith_ ," Don said, glaring back at Smith in a very familiar irritated way.

"I knew you were alive! That blast was transporting you somewhere!" Smith insisted. "I knew it! I never doubted you for one moment!"

Waltercoth shifted in the approaching man's direction with a pained smile.

"West. . ." Waltercoth said.

"Are the Robinsons outside in the waiting room?" he looked toward the doorway then back on to the man. "Where have you been for the last twenty years?"

Don turned his attention on to Waltercoth.

"Here I thought it was going to be hard," Don said, then took Smith's hand.

In a brilliant flash of light, their atoms were soaring through the heavens moving from one place to another occupied by alarmed screams coming from thin air. The three figures reappeared on a glowing white padd with a series of stair steps that lead to the center surrounded by a brilliant beam of various blue colors surrounding them. Don looked around letting go of Smith's hand. The platform slowly lowered down from the cieling that retracted a large barrier over the night sky. The night sky from above vanished from above Smith as his gut feeling screamed.

 _"Danger! Danger! Doctor Smith!"_ The Robot's voice from decades ago echoed in his head.

"Major?" Smith asked, confused. "Care to tell me what is going on?"

"Yes, _Major_ ," Waltercoth said. "What is going on?"

Don looked over in the direction of Waltercoth with a look that said 'I don't know'.

"Are the Robinsons in danger?" Smith asked. "Is there a little snag that I made? Are they being held captive because of me?"

The barrier from around them fell and several armed guards came from across the two moving to the side armed with long spears with pea shaped additions on the top. Don was shaking his head as Smith's eyes scanned the group surrounding them. They wore armor held together by long, thick strips of fabric that had a very, distinctive unique style that was intimidating. A large squid being came out of the shadows taking on the humanoid form belonging to Amy. The pigments of her skin stood out as shades of gray and blue with hands linked behind her back. Her skin changed to a bright shade of pink easily indicating her age. Smith forced himself forward but landed to his knees on the platform with pleading eyes.

"Please, don't take them," Smith said. "Take me."

"You make it so easy," Amy said. "we could have done it ourselves."

"But you have," Smith said.

"We had help," Amy said, as Don came to her side. "I forgot to mention it's a prototype."

"You really should have mentioned that," Don said.

Don walked toward the woman's side.

"Send the lieutenant back, she is just a accomplice," Don said. "And I need those payments sent in the next hour."

Smith wore a shocked expression that morphed into devastation with big eyes centered on Don and anger momentarily flashed on his eyes. There was confusion easily seen on his face. He was struggling to understand why the major had betrayed him. It was unlike him. There to be a explinatation behind it. He only did that when it came to to the Robinsons.

"I am afraid we can't do that, Mr West," Amy said. "We need _all_ loose ends tied."

"I won't talk," Don said. "Even if we talked, no one would believe us."

"They all talk," Amy glanced off toward the older man. "Even he talked."

"What about our deal?" Don asked. "Is my end of the deal still being held up?"

"We keep our deals with the dead," Amy said, snapping her fingers. "Prepare for execution."

Don reached out grabbing on to a spear then pressed on a button located on the side of the spear and fired at them.

The armed aliens crawled back as Don changed his aim toward Amy wearing a furious expression. Waltercoth knelt down toward Smith then carefully placed a hand on his shoulder ever so lightly. Smith was uncharacteristically silent. Wrecked and vulnerable. In a state of shock processing how he had landed into the hands of the people who wanted him gone. He was shaking his head then turned his gaze up toward Don with tearful eyes as everything that he knew about the man was falling apart. He saw a stranger that he did not know standing before him approaching the young woman. If he was alive then so were they and that would mean that they were aware of what was going on. They let him do it. No, they wouldn't have let him do it. They wouldn't have, unless-

"Where are the Robinsons?" Smith asked. "Where are they?"

"They are dead," Amy replied.

"They cannot be dead," Smith said. "Major West is here!" Smith pointed toward Don.

"The Robinsons have been dead for the last twenty-two years," Amy said.

Then it really hit Smith as he looked up toward Don.

"I trusted you," Smith said, feeling all that trust he had with the man shatter into a million pieces around him.

"So did I," Waltercoth said.

"Send two of us back and I won't kill you," Don said. "I will throw away my spear before we leave as part of my promise."

"That is not necessary," Amy said. "I like to see you carry that bluff out," she turned her gaze on to Smith. "I will make sure you remember this."

Don aimed the alien spear at Amy then pressed on the trigger.

Suddenly, he was jolted with electricity that sent him falling to the ground letting go of the spear. The spear rolled down the steps while the young man groaned. A long tentacle wrapped around Smith's waist ripping him from Waltercoth's grip and let out a girly, terrified scream at the unexpected development. Large, juicy tentacles wrapped around the woman's wrists and her ankles propping her up to her feet. One of the tentacles with green appendages bit into the side of Smith's exposed neck. Smith stopped squirming, visibly calming down, appearing to be partially drugged. A small, long slim device was pressed against his head and a smooth soft hiss came next as it was withdrawn. Don was lifted up to his feet by another set of tentacles that wrapped around his shoulders and he ached all over raising his head up.

"Are you proud?" Waltercoth shouted. "Proud of this? ARE YOU?"

"No," Don said, shaking his head. "I am not."

"Execute," Amy said.

The staff that the spear was part of extended with more parts that took on a humanoid outline. Smith raised his head up and his eyes flickered in recognition at Waltercoth and looked toward the weapon. He was able to see blue laser blasts strike the woman's body leaving behind visible rounded wounds and splatters of blood. Smith screamed a long drawn out "NO!" and his partially sedated demeanor was chased away as he kicked his legs trying to get himself down while clawing at the large tentacle. More tentacles wrapped around his figure making him become immobilized. His hand tightly clutched the watch against the palm of his hand. His scream was easy to hear over the sound of the blasts as it deafened over the sounds. The suit depowered and became a mass of sticks falling to the ground.

"Prepare the next execution in twenty-four hours," Amy said.

"No. . ." Smith said. "No. . Krystal.." he watched the young woman's body fall to the ground landing to her side. "Please, wake up," the aliens moved away from the scene headed toward the doors. "wake up, please, no, no, no, please wake up. Krystal! Krystal! KRYSTAL!" he screamed out in anguish. " **KRYSTAL**!"

Waltercoth's eyes remained open facing the direction that Don had been held. The camera moved into the darkness then into a wide, large cell that lacked bars. Don was tossed into the cell with a loud rough thud. The young man rolled until he hit the wall from across. Smith was gently placed into the cell against the neighboring wall to balance him. Don charged toward the opening with a shout but then long wide purple glowing bars got in the way shocking him and sent him back onto the floor leaving behind the visible imprints of bars along his face. The bars changed from purple to dark gray matching the dark aesthetic of the prison room. Don grunted, standing up to his feet placing his hands onto his knees and cracked his knuckles. Smith rubbed the back of his neck lowering his head down with closed eyes taking out his pocket watch from the pocket with a slowly loosening grip.

"I am going to kick their asses once I get out of here," Don said.

Smith turned himself around toward the wall then leaned his head against it.

"And after I kick their asses, I am going back to Earth," Don said.

Smith placed his arm against his forehead.

"This is the worst day I had since my first mission," Don said.

Smith was silent as the man paced back and forth.

"Because of that I am going to make her face overkill,"

Smith's eyes were closed.

"That is going to be for Krystal,"

There was no reply.

"Afterwards, I will tell them what happened," Don stopped in the middle of the room. "Are you listening to a word I am saying?"

Smith didn't move a inch.

"You're shunning me? Coming from someone who likes socialization, I think you can't do it. I am the only man in the room."

Don walked back.

"What do you expect me to say, Don?" Smith asked, turning away from the wall with hurt in his eyes.

"Sorry for sabotaging the Robot would help," Don said. Smith shook his head. "As a start."

"Thank you?" Smith started. "How could you? HOW COUULLLDDDD YOU?" came as dramatic and over the top. "That I forgive you?" his words were heavy in disgust and sarcasm. "I thought I _knew_ you. I thought we were friends. I thought you were better than me in every way." he combed through his hair. "The good man who foiled against my cowardly, mean charade. _Always_ the hero, but you're not! The best pilot in space! The best man to be stuck with in a tight situation! The best man to trust with my life even when it came to missions where we were expendable. EXPENDABLE! EXPEEENDABLE!" he threw his hands into the air. "You're a stack of heavy dynamite that can explode and leave a crater that no one can come back from! You were always a mine that could go off at any moment and send people flying a bit hurt but that could be healed over. This," he shook his head. "This cannot be healed! THIS CANNOT BE HEALED OVER BY A MERE APOLOGY, Major!" he gestured toward the bars. "How can I be your friend in the last few hours that we have left? I can't. I would be but I don't know you anymore," he shook his head, disappointed. "It's like you're not even Don West."

Smith moved himself over to the corner of the cell then slowly plopped down bringing his hands onto the top of his knees.

"I am not. I am his _son_ ," Smith looked up. "It's me, Franklin West."

Smith grew shocked and surprised as he looked on toward the bars as it hit him.

"Oh dear," Smith said.

Don had a _son_.

"Why don't you remember that?" Franklin said.

Smith shrugged.

"If I forgot you and remembered everyone, there must be a reason," Smith said. "I assume it must be good."

"What _do_ you remember?" Franklin asked.

"That a complete stranger who looks like my dear friend marched into my life, took my hand, and brought me here claims to be his son," Smith said, his resentment hanging in every word. "and made me watch a very dear friend of mine die grimly before my eyes."

"Good," Franklin said, clapping his hands together. Smith flinched at the echo in the cell. "Just what I wanted to hear."

"When you die; I want you to remember something," Smith said.

"What's that?" Franklin asked.

"You could have refused," Smith said.

"They made a offer that I couldn't refuse," Franklin knelt down toward the pocket watch. "Unlike you."

"Unlike me?" Smith asked, raising his eyebrows placing a hand on his chest with a insulted look. "I accepted it out of _greed_ , West," his eyes watched the younger man pick up the pocket watch. "My Achilles heel," he lowered his hand down into his lap. "It was a offer I could refuse."

"But you didn't," Franklin said, opening the pocket watch. He gazed down then turned his gaze on Smith with a disgusted look. "I don't walk around everyday with a trophy that showed all the members of the mafia. You're proud of it."

Smith shook his head.

"No," Smith insisted, sadly as Franklin took the photograph out of the pocket watch. "I am not." Alarm became present on his features watching the young man fold the photograph carefully into a square. "What are you doing?" Franklin lifted his attention up on Smith and back down onto the folded paper. "Put that back!" the younger man twisted the fold of paper forwards while turning the other half backwards that it started to tear. "Put that back where you got it!" Franklin tore the photograph into pieces. "Stop!"

"Wasn't that his last word?" Franklin said, dropping the small pieces of paper. "Stop?" Franklin's eyes stopped on Smith. "When you were busy _killing_ everyone?"

Smith's gaze was full of hurt when he looked up toward the young man.

"No wonder I _chose_ to forget you," Smith said. "You are the worst kind of spawn that I have ever seen. You don't deserve to be _known._ "

Franklin hymphed making his way from Smith going toward his side of the cell.

"Neither do you," Franklin said, as the older man was glaring hard at him.

Smith lifted himself to the small pile of paper. He carefully placed piece by piece into the pocket watch rearranging them in the correct order. He used his finger tip to pick up the smaller pieces then delicately slide it off using the tips of his fingernail so that it fell back into the pocket watch. His eyes turned toward the very well aging photograph that hadn't faded a day. The golden and bright light gray color shined against his face. It was odd how the photograph hadn't aged. After so many times opening it in the last two decades one would expect to find the color had fade. He hadn't been betrayed by Don after all. But why did it still feel like he was betrayed by Don? The warm, kind smiles from the Robinsons eased Smith's mood. He moved back into his corner of the cell and pressed his back against it.

Smith entered his long drawn out fantasy. The Robinsons were concerned at this point regarding his sudden disappearance and were offering prayers to his safe return. General West was butting into the newly forming investigation and putting together what pieces there had been dropped by the investigators regarding what had happened then he use all his resources ransacking the business for Smith using loopholes or a matter they hadn't dealt accordingly before then. If they couldn't find Smith and Franklin on Earth then Don would go to Stargate Command and request for a rescue mission to be launched but they wouldn't have the slightest clue where to find them leaving him right back at square one. Will would have a vision, conveniently, and tell West about it. They would attempt to pull off the rescue mission on their own, get thrown in, and be trapped just like them. He would have heard the sounds of electrical blasts carried in the large room. Then the Robot would come to the bars informing them that he was going to disarm the cell. Will would go on to explain they put their old friend Robot back together in a new model that was old but the inside was entirely new and he had been hidden in Smith's quarters. Don finishing the story by explaining they got a hold on the old Jupiter 2 and used the hyper drive to bring them to the station. Afterwards, they escape the facility and return home aboard the Jupiter 2.

_Home again._

"Oh shit!"

Smith was yanked out of his fantasy to see red, circular lights on the cell across from him-

"That was not my fault! That was not my fault! That was not my fault!"

Smith fell to his side as his eyes rolled back into his head and everything became black. Darkness was replaced by dark gray acting as a terrible background to a pacing Franklin. Franklin had his hands linked behind his back that he squeezed ever so tightly. Smith felt fully rested but the pain from his hips were throbbing. He used the crevices alongside him to prop himself up to his feet. If he were on Earth, he would have started some physical therapy to get adjusted to his new hips and be given oral pain medication. He could do some exercises on his own standing in the cell. So why not?

"What are you doing?" Franklin asked.

"Physical therapy," Smith shot back. "Ninny."

"We don't have to go down to name calling," Franklin said, then Smith apparated in front of the man.

"Yes, we do!" Smith jabbed his finger at the man's chest. "Tell me how it feels not to be believed. Oh wait, where I am going, you won't be able to."

"You're not going to die," Franklin said.

"I have been put into dire situations like this," Smith said, folding his arms. "I could always get out of them. I can't do it this time."

"Why don't you use the old Robinson luck to get you out of here like you used them," Franklin said, watching the older man's eyes grow big and placed a hand on his chest almost seemingly taken back by the comment. "Why don't you?"

There was a loud immediate slap to the side of Franklin's face.

"How _dare_ you talk about the Robinsons that way," Smith said. "They were never tools to me," he held up his index finger. " **Never**!" He walked away. "If you continue talking this useless insult train then we have no chance of cooperating and making a effective escape back to Earth," he waved his hand off in a dismissive gesture. "you rotten twit."

"Now, now," Franklin said, coming over toward Smith. "We have been here for nine hours and every hour has more chances of dying so we may not like each other but we have to work together. I got myself into this mess and you're going to get me out of it."

"You got one part wrong," Smith said.

"Which part?" Franklin asked.

"You got into this mess and you are going to get yourself out of it,"' Smith said. "I can't get you out of this!" Smith gestured toward the glowing purple cell bars.

"You did it once," Franklin said, folding his arms.

"I had allies," Smith said. "You are not doing well keeping one."

"We're not being allies," Franklin said.

"And you're asking for my help," Smith said, his face growing long.

Franklin walked away rubbing the back of his neck.

"The allies I have made are people I respect and like," Franklin said. "This," he gestured toward himself then toward Smith. "doesn't count as allying."

"What do you call it?" Smith asked, calmly as though a storm lay under his demeanor.

"Survival, team work," Franklin said. "Escaping. Just the general."

"You will never survive space with that line of thinking," Smith snapped. "You need allies to survive outer space and its dangers." he pointed toward the barred window. " _To survive_!" he shook his head. "You have to treat them well with their part," Smith glanced off toward the bars looking back at a earlier memory then his eyes glanced down toward the floor. "Major West and I didn't treat each well in the beginning." His eyes shifted toward the younger man. "Let alone escaping from being abducted by aliens with your worst enemy that you keep mistreating! Your enemy will run away and never return if there wasn't company around! Let alone being drawn by music to a booth or a lab and no one will come to your rescue because the only people who know are those you have mistreated! Allying and surviving goes hand in hand."

"I am not going to be sticking around in space for long, _Doctor_ Smith _,"_ Franklin said, earning a insulted look from Smith.

There was another slap.

"What was that for?" Franklin rubbed his jaw.

"Don't call me by that," Smith said. "I don't deserve that much as you deserve the name West."

Franklin looked at the man.

"They stripped you of your title?" Franklin said. "Oh, I didn't think they-"

"Punished me enough," Smith said. "I am alive and they are not, that is punishment _enough_."

"I am not buying that act," Franklin said. "But we have to ignore what brought us here."

"What brought us here?" Smith asked, giving a dirty glare. "What. Brought. Us. Here?"

"Revenge," Franklin said.

"And what brought you to my doorstep?" Smith asked.

"Revenge?" Franklin asked.

"If you want to live then you should drop the revenge business," Smith said.

"I get where you are going," Franklin said, holding his hands up and shaking them. "I will give that up." Smith sighed, staring back at the man, slightly shaking his head. "I will!"

The older man came over over toward the bars with clasped hands scanning the scenery ahead.

"If only we could have a altercation, but. . ." Smith looked up absentmindedly. "One of us is too old to do that."

A light flicked on above Franklin's head.

"I got it!" Franklin said. "Smith, get on my shoulders."

Smith turned in his direction.

"Why me?" Smith asked. "You could easily climb up."

"The panel is too far," Franklin said, kneeling down. "Smith, _UP_."

Smith reluctantly climbed up on to the man's shoulders and balanced himself up.

"Mind telling me what gave you the scare a few hours ago?" Smith asked.

"They like to play with their prisoners," Franklin said, as Smith tore off the panel. "And it isn't psychological."

Smith noticed the marks in the wall and the plasterer that seemed to have been recently added before their arrival standing out by their shades of gray. Smith yanked out a needle then played along the microchips that sent warm, trickling electrical spikes into his finger tips. He poked at the larger glass domes with the needle then moved his head out of the way letting the glass fall below him. He twisted and turned the small needle into the thin slot and unrolled out a rounded bulky section that had thick blue wires connected to each side. He turned it upside down to see a light gray view screen that had blocks indicating the energy level inside. Smith unrolled the cables from their ports then removed them into different holes. Smith rolled it back into the cieling.

"This must work," Smith said. "Been a long time since I performed a power surge."

"It will have to bring them here sooner rather than later," Franklin said.

Smith looked down toward Franklin.

"Speaking of time," Smith said. "We have so little of it before the power surge."

Franklin knelt down letting go of the old man's feet allowing Smith to walk down his figure.

"How far should we be?" Franklin asked.

"Duck!" Smith replied.

Smith knelt down and shielded his head as soft beeps came from above. Franklin looked up then did exactly what Smith had done. A bright explosion came from above the young man's head with electrical sparking and bolting. Franklin saw what seemed to be a long yellow bolt of liquid falling from around him as the high pitch electrical sound wailed from above. Then there was the sound of metal breaking scattering from around them. Two of the bars lifted up halfway easily making a path to escape. Franklin made his way over toward the exit of the cell and got out of there. He came to a stop by the cell bars watching the older man attempt to crawl his way over. Smith laid on his back with a groan squeezing his eyes shut. He rubbed his forehead and flopped over on to his side, bent his left leg, placed himself forward, then performed the same move lifting his leg up. Smith felt sharp jolts of pain coming from his hips as he made his way in the direction of Franklin. Abruptly, the bars fell down blocking his way.

"Oh shit!" Franklin said.

Smith looked toward the younger man.

"Hide," Smith whispered, as the door started to open. "Now."

Franklin bolted into the dark corner of the room.

"There is no way that a power surge could have happened here," came the taller guard. "It is impossible."

"It is feasible," came the shorter one. "Look, there is only one human."

"Hmmm?" Smith was propped against the wall. "I seem to recall there was one of me."

"There was only one put in here," the taller guard said.

"There were two," the shorter one insisted, as Franklin crept behind them.

"If there were two," the taller one came over toward a bulky panel with large buttons and small view screens. "The computer would say so."

"There's a prisoner out and you're not terrified that we may have to explain why that happened?" the shorter one asked.

"The computer says there is only two prisoners," The taller one said. "There can't be possibly tw-" the taller one's face fell."Oh." It was delivered in a flat lone tone that easily said a mistake was made. "One of them escaped."

Franklin karate chopped the shorter alien on the back of the head and yanked the spear out of their hands. He twirled the long, light weight weapon pressing on the trigger aiming it at the taller alien. The taller guard stood staring down at the view screen with a large circular burn tearing through the chest plating right into the back armor then collapsed onto the counter. Franklin shoved the fallen alien off the console to notice that all the buttons were not lit. He pressed all of them at random earning beeps and nothing happening after each press. He expected something to happen but it didn't. He slowed down pressing until he stopped pressing the buttons altogether, Franklin tried to study it getting a good look at the screen. He squinted, observing the unmoving text that gave a good giveway that it was frozen. He smacked the screen then the buttons brightened up replaced by a lighter shade of gray indicating they were ready to be used. He turned his attention on to the keyboard. There were symbols that he didn't understand on the square golden buttons. Franklin's eyes were scanning the keyboard in a way that said he was baffled trying to study it. He looked off toward the older convict who wore a knowing expression.

"I already watched a West die," Smith said. "I do not want to see another West die."

"I am not going without back up," Franklin said.

"You _are_ the back up," Smith said.

"I am a assassin," Franklin said. "Not the cavalry."

"One person alone is capable of killing a thousand," Smith said. "Do what you do best. Run. _Quickly_."

"And what about you?" Franklin asked. "Manipulate everyone to your liking to save yourself?"

"If getting lost in space with the Robinsons never happened," Smith replied, turning his gaze briefly toward the floor then lifted his eyes up toward the younger man. "that is what Doctor Smith would have done." He waved his hand, dismissively. "Live your life on the run, always looking over your shoulder, and enjoying what little of happiness you'll have because it won't be much."

"I won't need to look over my shoulder unlike you," Franklin said, then ran out of the cell.

"No," Smith said, as the door closed behind Franklin as he tapped his fingers together in his lap. "I have no enemies to worry about on Earth." _Because they have all passed away.  
_

Smith rested his eyes with a sigh staring toward the wall. The pain from the betrayal still lingered being more transparent than the one coming from his hips. He had been betrayed before the Robinsons and after the Robinsons, but there was something about this betrayal that lingered on stinging his heart. It hurt because he thought Franklin was part of his found family and that he was Don. To think he had seen Franklin as someone under the same roof as the Robinsons inside in a old super spaceship that was currently orbiting Mars along with a telsa roadster. He rubbed above his right eyebrow using his other hand to slide the other leg up. His eyes fluttered open. He was so, so, so angry to be thrown into this situation by someone he had viewed as a trust worthy figure. He took out the pocket watch from his pocket then clicked it open.

When he saw the Robinsons, the pain of loneliness didn't really hurt as much. It felt like they were still there with him giving him company and lightening the mood in the cell comforting each other. The hand that was holding on to the pocket watch was lightly trembling. There was a fond look in his eyes followed by a sad, fond smile toward the loosely put together photograph. The pain that had plagued his heart over the years from losing them had dulled making it not as pronounced but the anger at being the only survivor still lingered on. The Robinsons always forgave him for his mistakes and he always forgave them. He closed his eyes. Will would have forgiven Franklin for his mistake. Will would have made Smith forgive the young man, Smith would have lied and said he had, but he wasn't exactly ready to do that. Not when he was so close to the chances of dying in space with no one from Earth willing to rescue him. When they had the Robot from the outside, chances of getting out of the problem alive were over a hundred percent.

Smith was forced up to his feet by a force that wrapped around his chest in a tight manner and little pieces fell out of the pocket watch as his eyes flipped open. He clicked the pocket watch close before any more pieces of the photograph could be lost forever. He kicked and squirmed in the tentacle grip finding it difficult to breath in the struggle. Eventually, his hips felt tired enough that kicking wasn't a option anymore. His legs fell as he panted resting his head on the top of the tentacle. His legs were wrapped tightly by another tentacle. He looked out to see the window displayed space. A familiar scene that he hadn't seen in over decades. The two suns were a sight that drew his concern and alarm only so briefly. There were planets seen visibly from the distance held by the station.

Smith softly muttered to himself, "oh dear" repeatedly in a worried tone while a dark feeling sunk into his gut.

He was doomed.

Purely, utterly doomed.

He wanted to _live_ when the odds were against him.

The pocket watch slipped out of his sweating hand.

"I dropped my watch!" Smith shouted. "Someone get my watch!"

He reached his hand out for the silver watch that grew distant becoming a distant sparkling object. It was just a watch with a photograph of a family. A family that he could very well be joining but he felt that he wouldn't be joining them behind those pearly gates but instead be walking through the gates of hell. A eternal damnation rested in Smith's cards that he hadn't played right since he was a young boy. The little flicker of heaven that he could have had on his person to make the rest of eternity bearable was dashed out of his line of sight as a corner was taken much to his dismay pleading to the alien.

The camera lowered down to the lone, well carved pocket watch that had a intricate design on the top. A long, curved white claw picked up the pocket watch by the hoop and the camera went up backing away to reveal the anti-matter Robot. A checkered model consisting of black and white contrasting against the normally colorful light gray and black model. Anti-matter Robot clicked open the pocket watch then its head bobbed up and his head lights glowed red wheeling forward at the sound of the familiar and aged voice. The anti-matter Robot came to a stop at the corridor as it registered in his sensors. The bobbed head lowered down along the light gray neckline. The anti-matter Robot turned around then bolted down the corridor. The anti-matter Robot swayed his long black arm in the way of a glowing blue panel and flew into the room. Franklin was trapped in a orange forcefield striking it repeatedly with his fists. The anti-matter Robot's green grill was unactive approaching the young man and came to a stop from behind him.

"I am anti-matter robot," Anti-matter Robot started.

Franklin turned in his direction.

"Joshua West," Franklin stepped away from the forcefield. "You can call me Franklin West," he placed his hands onto his side. "Wow, you're really everything they say. Tall, dark, and simple. . ." he scanned the man with his eyes. "The product of two decades worth of engineering."

"You did not need to come here to rescue me," Anti-matter Robot said.

"I didn't come here to rescue anyone," Franklin said. "I came here to rescue myself."

Anti-matter Robot's head bobbed up in alarm.

"Then why did the two of you come here?" Anti-matter Robot asked.

"To drop off Mr Smith to his fate," Franklin said.

" _Doctor_ Smith," Anti-matter Robot corrected.

"You don't know, do you?" Franklin asked, softly.

"Affirmative," Anti-matter Robot said.

"Smith killed the Robinsons," Franklin said.

Anti-matter Robot's head bobbed up in alarm.

"He killed them?" came off surprised.

"Yeah, he did," Franklin said.

"That does not compute," Anti-matter Robot said.

"It should compute," Franklin said. "this Smith isn't good."

"It does not compute as I would have been required to kill him first before he could try to murder the family," the anti-matter Robot replied. "What does not compute is not being stopped. This is not different."

"Here is what we think happened," Franklin started. "Smith took off the power pack, then killed Will, and put it back on. He lied to the Robot regarding what had just happened. Smith returned to the Jupiter 2 and retrieved a laser pistol while the hole was being dug. Professor Robinson and Major West were digging the grave. He stood over then gave the fatal shot to the professor sparing the major a bit briefly only knocking him out. He fired on the Robot, he returned to the Jupiter 2 and brought the women out of the ship claiming that something dreadful had just happened. After they left, Major West got a laser pistol and went after the group. There was a laser pistol shoot out. Mrs Robinson was the first to die protecting her children. Penelope and Judith ran fast as they could with Don behind them." The Robot was silently listening intently to the tale being told. "Smith took the slow route going after him. Some people think he was biding his time waiting for the perfect moment to kill them. They were scared, upset, and confused on what was going on. They didn't know why Smith had snapped but he did. Penelope walked off to the Jupiter 2 thinking that she could sort the problem out her own way. Smith had the courtesy of firing into her back like a coward instead of being faced. Major West and Judith awoke hours later to find out that the young woman was missing. Judith. They returned to the Jupiter 2 with makeshift weapons from their surroundings on the planet. Judith found Smith first. She couldn't do it. How can you shoot someone you considered family? This time, Smith did this face to face shooting her in the chest. Then it was just him and Major West. By the end, Smith had to dig seven graves. Afterwards, he left the planet with the Robot. The Robot was destroyed bringing Smith back to Earth."

"You think that's what happened," Anti-matter Robot said.

"Yeah," Franklin said.

"No evidence," Anti-matter Robot said.

"Professor Robinson's journal is the evidence," Franklin said.

"That is not evidence," Anti-matter Robot said. "That is not hard concrete evidence!"

"It got him convicted," Franklin said. "That is evidence enough."

"What is the real story?" Anti-matter Robot asked.

"That is the story," Franklin said.

"Negative, the real story that he has stuck to since arriving," Anti-matter Robot said.

"The Robinsons were burned alive before his eyes and he couldn't do a thing about it," Franklin said, watching the bobbed head lower. "Can you believe that? He expected everyone to believe that when we didn't have proof."

"I will not miss this opportunity at redemption, Franklin West," Anti-matter Robot replied. "I killed a good man and I will save a good man!"

"Keep telling that to yourself," Franklin said. "A goody two shoes can't be good on both sides of the mirror."

"Evil is always present," The Robot said. "We have a choice to go through with it. I am trying to good and that is not exactly easy!" he bobbed his head up. "I believe he is capable of doing good as I am."

"Why are you not with the anti-matter Robinsons?" Franklin asked.

"I have fulfilled my function," Anti-matter robot replied. "I was returning to Earth in the space pod when I fell into a anomaly. I was rescued years later covered in rust. I provided A'sch'emy with a means to the very same machinery that brought you from Earth to this station."

"You made the transporter," Franklin said.

"I designed it," Anti-matter Robot said. "A grave mistake."

"We have both made mistakes," Franklin said. "I am not here for redemption but I like to get out of here."

"I am capable of operating the transporter," Anti-matter Robot replied.

"And you're going to stay behind," Franklin said.

"Negative," Anti-matter Robot replied. "I will leave after setting it up for total destruction. This station will be destroyed with everyone inside including you."

"Hey!" Franklin said. "I am coming with."

"You are not part of the Robinsons," Anti-matter Robot turned away then went toward the doors.

"Now hold on, hold on!" Franklin said. "How can you forgive him so easily? After he killed everyone? Even Will for crying out loud!"

The anti-matter Robot wheeled toward the man coming to a stop in front of the barrier.

"I last saw my counterpart free and unrestrained in the cavern, therefor, it is not hard to process that the Robinsons included Doctor Smith into their family unit in your positive-matter world," Anti-matter Robot said. "The Robinsons survival were my top priority. In a sense, they became my family. If Smith was the only survivor of the expedition then it is not hard to believe that positive-matter Robot did all he could to make sure there were survivors during the tragedy that unfolded. That is the logical explanation. And if he did, what you claim he did, positive-matter Robot would find it inside him to forgive Zachary Smith. Because that is what family does."

"Shouldn't being Major West's son automatically put me under the family branch?" Franklin asked.

"Computing," Anti-matter Robot said, then made loud intense clickety clack noises sending Franklin jumping back.

Franklin regained his bearings staring at the simplistic model.

"I _did_ create a opportunity to redeem yourself after all," Franklin shouted over, gesturing toward the anti-matter Robot.

The noises from the anti-matter Robot stopped.

"Affirmative," Anti-matter Robot said. Anti-matter Robot's head bobbed up. "I have a plan!"

The camera panned over through the wall landing into the corridor to meet up with Smith. The older man had stopped struggling in the grip of the tentacles. His gaze fixated on his surrounding searching for a way out of the situation. He turned his gaze off the space ahead of him toward his captors to observe that they were in highly stylized armor that fit along to their build and the neck collar was wide and pointy with light gray glittering secondary metal on the rims. There were clasps on parts of the armor that could easily be unlatched with a single reach of his arm. He played through his potential escape only to end up being cornered at every single variation of the fantasy then being twisted, squeezed, and turned until his body ripped in half letting go of several gallons of blood. All his major organs fall out in a painless heap. The pain would have there in the initial split accompanied by a death scream. He didn't know if they were allowed to do that but it was undeniably plausible. His gaze fixated up toward the rounded windows that had giant bulbs at the center glowing light blue creating a large pool of light. Light that he may never again be able to appreciate. The hall was mostly dark then the lights going out from above divulged the station into darkness.

The aliens stopped in their tracks gazing around the corridor warily. The uncomfortable silence echoing through the corridor easily said that it wasn't a natural occurrence for the station. The aliens resumed their way down the corridor passing by security officers running on past them. Smith could see their humanoid shapes moving in the dark while lifting himself up against the tentacle. He fell against the tentacle slipping further into the grip. Or was it the other way around? The tentacle slipping up further against his chest that it now was under his arms. Then he was tossed into the air and fell back down with a short startled scream only to be caught by two tentacles that pressed his arms against his side and his legs were forced to stop moving. He struggled trying to wiggle himself out of the grip only to realize it was a failed effort and very exhausted. As though he had been beaten up by one too many body blows from the universe after his mistake had come back to haunt him with his back against the wall.

There was a red light that sizzled soaring past Smith. Unmistakenable red sizzling electricity that dropped some liquefied bolts dripping down to the floor leaving behind a puddle. The alien fled down the hall as Smith tried to get a look at what was happening. A blue ball of light struck the side of another alien. There were loud, clear precise laser blasts from behind Smith. Smith closed his eyes feeling his stomach twist and turn twisting itself up sending the contents of what remained of dinner up his throat while being shaken from side to side. Smith lunged his head forward letting go of a jet that landed down to the floor. Smith felt sick closing his eyes feeling very disturbed and hungry. His stomach loudly growled pleading for food. Food that he may have the luxury of having. The delicate golden thread of hope grew bright in his mind outshining the darkness. The alien fell with a blast and the grip around his figure slacked letting him unroll out of the tentacle down the corridor.

He bolted down the hall then hid against a corner and regained his breath.

Smith looked over the edge to see a oncoming alien crash to the floor earning a startled shriek as he stepped back.

He turned away then made a run for it down the hall taking twist and turns noticing wall paneling from above him.

Smith ran up the side additions easily making it to the top jumping onto the pipes that hung on the cieling with light fixtures.

Light returned into the station as Smith lowered himself down onto the pipes covering his mouth to keep his whimpering at bay.

Smith panted regaining his bearings lowering his head onto the pipes. How was he going to get down from this one? Obviously, his reluctant rescuer had to be the young West. Smith was still on the pipes and silent. He saw the aliens were rushing underneath him going in different directions. He saw Franklin being taken down one of the corridors. Now, if only he had a grip on the spears as a means to protect himself. All the corridors were the same and there were high chances that he was being taken to a execution chamber. He turned over to his side encountering loud, obnoxious pain. He draped a arm off the side of the pipes and reached out for the passing spear. He yanked it up without alarming the alien. He moved on to his back looking up toward the spear with a pea tip. Smith couldn't go back to Earth without someone collaborating his story. He had been ridiculed too much about his last story in space, not believed, his name unjustified slandered because of it. Now, to find the execution chamber. That was a very tricky, problematic issue.

It wasn't problematic if he followed them. Smith placed the spear into his right hand to the side then lifted himself up to his feet and crawled down the pipes quite with speed. His hips stung at each pull that was taken going after the man struggling fiercely to get out of the grip. What was going to happen? Get captured again? The chances were high, but he couldn't go without the young man. It was likely that they could very well die with this train of sequences and it was a acceptable outcome, trying all they could to retrieve each other, much as he was puzzled by the man's insistence to rescue him, it was in the young man's best interest to return to Earth and live out the rest of his life surrounded by familiar beings. Will and Don would have made him go along on the break out mission. It would have been a order, but a order from family, and hope that they would get out of the station quite alive. That was all he needed.

 _Hope_.

Hope that things were going to get better.

God knew Smith deserved a little bit of that.

Things were going to get better for him.

Something that he told himself for the last twenty-one years for every day and it never did. There were some bright side to this situation. This one was going to get better one way or another. He wasn't going to watch another West die before his eyes. That much was very certain. The power went off as soon as the aliens stopped in their tracks coming to a stop in front of a doorway. The execution chamber hadn't been that far away as he had thought. Smith slipped himself halfway off the bars then fired back at the aliens firing two times receiving a high pitched wail in return. He sent the aliens tumbling back as he fired a second time. This time the interior of the squid's body was forced open exposing their physiology dropping Franklin to the ground in one grip. Smith rolled off the bars landing to his feet with a thud. He used the larger tentacle to get up to his feet.

"I should really say-"

Smith flicked the younger man's hand off his shoulder then glared as he turned toward his direction in the pitch black then aimed at him. The young man ducked and a jet of energy flew out of the spear hurling toward the oncoming aliens. Franklin picked up the neighboring spear. He took out the small blue touch screen outlined in blue from his pocket as Smith fired on multiple times in the direction of the oncoming aliens. Franklin slipped the object back into his pocket with the memory of the map hanging in his mind. The younger man grabbed Smith by the wrist then ran fast as he could. Their hearts were racing in the intense, terrifying escape. Franklin repeatedly fired at the door ahead until there was nothing left but a circular large hole waiting for them to bolt through.

There was the sound of familiar, robotic whirring coming from behind Smith as he turned his attention away from the direction the aliens were coming from. All other sounds became part of the background in a way that was buzzing that could be ignored. It had been twenty-one years since he had heard the noise. A noise that Smith had believed could be forgotten but whatever had been done to his brain simply overrode that basic fact of memory degrade. It had to be a auditory hallucination. Much like Franklin wasn't Don, this had to be a imposter of his dear friend. It is not like Amy had ordered that the reconstruction of a Earthly made Robot and used it for nefarious purposes. He believed these hallucinations had ended a long time ago. And they had not been prominent for the last two decades. The chances of it being a auditory hallucination were resting at zero. The thought struck him: Could it be the genuine article?

They came into the pitch black transport room. Franklin ran until he tripped and fell to his knees letting go of the elderly man's hand. Smith stumbled down to his feet once tripping over the unexpected elevated surface landing onto his side. There was a flash of pain coming from his left hip earning a grimace. Franklin propped himself up as his eyes adjusted to the pitch black. Smith saw a set of red lights whirring over toward the back end of the room. Smith brought himself up to his feet walking over the platform using the spear as his support. Franklin surveyed the scene ahead getting up to his feet on his own. Smith leaned the spear against his chest then rubbed his eyes and stared at the familiar figure. The familiar long arms, the forms of claws, the bent over figure, the circular head, and the bulky chest model. If he were to believe it were real then that would mean the Robinsons were alive one way or another. He saw a green glow coming from the figure but unable to hear what was being said as if it were whispering to itself.

A moment later, the light blinked on to reveal that they were inside a light gray wide room with plenty of space to spare. There were several protruding rounded sections decorating the wall surrounding the closed dome from above. The dome's lid was gradually opening with a very low rumble. Smith was expecting to see a very family friendly gray, black, and red Robot. Instead, Smith saw a black and white checkered double standing behind a curved station. The anti-matter's Robot head bobbed up sparing a glance toward the old man. Smith was moving his mouth as though preparing to say a short word but nothing was coming out of it. The anti-matter Robot leaned over the console. The two men were scanned by a green light that illuminated from the lines surrounding the dome above. The green light dissipated a few seconds after just as it had appeared.

There was a familiar light that returned into Smith's eyes with tears of joy watching the anti-matter Robot work.

" _Booby_!" Smith called, beginning to walk forward toward the Robot. "How I have missed you!" but Franklin grabbed him by the elbow stopping him from going any further. His delighted demeanor was replaced by anger toward B-9. "That wasn't really nice of you to scare me like that, you ninny!"

" _Smith_ ," Franklin said.

"Let me go!" Smith cried, turning toward the young man and aimed the spear at his chest.

"That. is. _not_. your B-9," Franklin said, earning big eyes from Smith.

"Zachary Smith is not standing before you," Smith said, trying to free his elbow with a free hand. "Don't make me fire this spear."

"Zachary Smith," Anti-matter Robot called, simply.

That was enough to draw Smith's attention.

"He never will be," Franklin added, his grip on Smith's elbow growing tighter. "You got him killed twenty-two years ago."

Smith shifted away letting go of Franklin's grasp, the anti-matter Robot held his attention as they had a long stare in silence. He was real. _Real_. Time went slower while staring at the strikingly familiar model. Not a figment of his imagination or a short hallucination. Franklin watched the older man step forward without saying a word. There was a strange look on the older man's face in a way that was like staring at a bright hopeful light drawing him leaving in a trance state of mind. As though everything around him had simply became part of the background even a word coming from Franklin. A tug by the young man yanked Smith back into reality, Franklin acted as anchor bringing him into the present ripping him out of the smooth, freely flowing current. Smith didn't notice the guards coming in flanking the centered figure that began to spread around the room.

"You can never escape your fate," Amy said, wearing a smile on her face. "Nice try, Mr West, Mr Smith," she walked forward, grinning from ear to ear, with a entertained look in her eye. "you have only made it easier to get rid of you," her eyes shifted toward the inactive weapons then they lifted up toward the men. "Drop the spears."

Franklin tossed his spear away while Smith only dropped his spear to his side.

"I knew this was too good to be true," Franklin said.

"We're doomed," Smith said. " _Doomed_!" was added in a upset tone.

"And you, Robot," Amy said. "Where did you get that idea to to crush their escape?"

The Robot turned away from Amy facing the men acknowledging their reactions, confusion and hurt/betrayal, bobbing his head up.

"When Zachary Smith sabotaged me," Anti-matter robot said. "The Robinsons were only _delayed,"_ His arms extended from his shell. "This is only a delay." Bolts of red sizzling electricity from his black and white came from the claws firing at the aliens.

Franklin ducked taking Smith with him as firing was exchanged inside the room.

The young closed his eyes waiting for the chaos to end letting go of the older man's hand and covered his head. Smith had his eyes open watching it unfold. Smith watched the Robot be struck repeatedly sending sparks flying. Several alien guards dropped dead with a steaming, size-able hole in their chest plating that had sunk into their chest. The standing surviving guards fired back all at once on target in loud phew phew noises. A mass of white red electricity grew from the Robot's figure that fell against the console with a loud crash. Abruptly, thee was firing coming from the direction of the two men. Amy turned, feeling her chest stinging, watching the older man screech as he fired at every alien in the room with the high-tech spear. There were tears coming down his cheeks. The center of the room began to rise on the two men lifting them up to the top. The dome's cover was completely retracted showing a holographic representation of Earth at the center with a red arrow pointing at a specific section of the planet.

Amy's humanoid figure began to slip away as she fell to her side gaining long extended arms similar to a octopus spreading from her sides and her legs grew into tentacles. The alien guards fired back only to be countered by the quickly speeding blasts. He was turning in circles firing at random destroying equipment all around sending a few aliens flying into the air catching the walls on fire. Franklin opened his eyes gazing up in shock. The room turned from gray to pitch black with flames scorching the room like a bomb had exploded inside. Smith moved to the edge of the elevator where he aimed down on the edge then aimed at the panels which he fired on sending them falling onto the surviving security. Smith aimed the spear at a large collection of duplicates like it then fired on it sending a explosion that rocked the room turning off the security systems. He walked backwards coming over to the center of the elevator then tossed his spear over the edge of the elevator. The elevator speed up faster sending the two men falling to their backs as it flew up toward the dome. A blue light outlined their screaming figures as it rushed toward the glass center while their eyes grew big to the camera being bound down to the floor by gravity. In a bright flash, they were no longer there and the dome cascaded down to the floor.

"OOohh. . ." came groaning from the anti-matter Robot's trembling figure.

The anti-matter Robot groaned propping himself up to see the elevation had returned down.

"They . . made. . . . it," The Robot said, relieved.

Anti-matter Robot set in the coordinates as material was falling around him.

The black and white B-9 was hunched over moving toward the ramp groaning with a tremble. Pieces of the wall fell behind the anti-matter being being eaten away by the continuing to spread hungry flames as he floated up onto the center of the elevator. He fell on to his side with a huff. Anti-matter Robot rolled on to his back then placed his arms back into his shell observing the stars from above. Pieces of the cieling fell down with a fury to the ground crashing on to piles of bodies. The broken lights struggled to remain on during the station's wailing echoing throughout. The scene backtracked to reveal a red light outlining the anti-matter Robot getting closer and closer to the glass dome under a slow speed. The anti-matter Robot's arms were sprawled onto his side. A part of the station blew up then it spread throughout loudly and furiously destroying everything that laid in its way chasing after running aliens taking them in with applause. It burst into the transport room surging up toward the cieling. The anti-matter Robot's figure glowed bright orange and vanished before the flames could eat away at his metal.

* * *

At eight thirty-three in the morning on the road to Los Vegas appeared two orange figures laid on the floor that regained their color set across from each other like two dolls placed parallel to each other with their heads meeting. Franklin started to laugh as Smith turned over to his side, squeezing his eyes, moving his hand onto his side. Franklin propped himself up to his feet. Smith placed his head on the paved road bending his figure up then placed a hand on his forehead while his figure trembled. What sobbing sounds were coming from Smith were drowned out by the man's cackling.

"You cheeky old bastard," Franklin said, his back to Smith. He turned back in the older man's direction. "So you did have it in you-" He stopped. "You really cared about it."

" _Him_ ," Smith correct, wiping off tears from his eyes. "I will never let myself get close to anyone else after today," he lowered his hand. "Space calls for me every so decade," He placed his hands onto his knees gazing toward the morning sky. "and because of it people die around me."

He wore a tired, exhausted, irritable expression turning his head toward the young man then lifted himself to his feet on his own covering a part of his side.

"You can't be serious," Franklin said.

"Don't believe me as you like," Smith said. "Now you will know how it feels to be not believed."

"They will believe me," Franklin said.

"Do you have evidence?" Smith asked.

"No," Franklin said.

"Collaborating reliable witnesses?" Smith asked.

"Yes," Franklin said.

"No," Smith said.

"You're a eyewitness to what happened," Franklin said.

"I am not," Smith said. "I am unreliable. Who would believe Zachary Smith. . . a saboteur, murderer, former spy?"

"They will believe me," Franklin said.

"Here is the evidence," Smith said. "you came back without Waltercoth, you escaped from prison, and helped out another prisoner from hospital." he gestured toward the ground. "I don't see a alien spear lying around. . . ." he clasped his hands together. "Do you?"

Franklin looked down toward the ground.

"No," Franklin said. "Ooh shit."

Smith turned then walked away, pressing his small hand against his side.

"Where are you going?" Franklin asked.

Smith closed his eyes with a sigh then turned toward the younger man.

"To find the nearest town and turn myself in," Smith replied. "You blockhead."

Smith turned away from Franklin continuing in the direction that he had started.

"Be that way," Franklin said, rolling his eye then walked on in the opposite direction.

Franklin walked further and further away into the landscape.

He came to a stop observing the familiar surroundings. He had driven down this road a long time ago with a car packed with friends singing to music and being in better spirits. He was headed the wrong way. The nearest town was behind him rather than ahead. He turned away with a groan. Having to face the old man again? What a tragedy. What was the universe trying to tell him? To put aside his anger at Smith for what he had done? Exactly what Eyepatch had told him. He walked in the direction that he had came in through the hot, steaming temperature. He saw a distant dark limp figure laid alongside the road. Franklin grew alarmed and looked back at his memory of the vicious firing by Smith. Smith had stood tall, confident, and very upset with his shoulders raised pressing on the trigger. It seemed like everything had gone in slow motion when in fact it was occurring rather quickly. His eyes were on the targets that were struck and began to fall from the blast. One of them had pressed the trigger to a weapon that resembled a baseball bat with several small items flying out. He came to the older man's side then peeled the man's hand off the side and saw his bloodied hand. Franklin laughed, raising his head up toward the sky.

 _Proof._ **Proof**. _ **PROOF**_.

"We have evidence after all," Franklin said, lowering his head down toward the old man with a smile. "Smith."

Franklin slipped up the pong from the hole in the belt including the metal pressed against it then slid it out from around the man's figure and took out a handkerchief from the man's pocket. He pressed the handkerchief against the bleeding injury then wrapped the belt around the man's waist. Franklin took out his handkerchief then placed it under the belt. He made the belt tighter to make sure the handkerchief was tightly placed so it wouldn't fall out. Smith was seemingly unconscious. Franklin observed the small pool of blood that seemed to have been gathering along the man's torso staining the dirt. Smith had lost a decent amount. Franklin lifted the well aging man up to his feet then swung his arm onto his shoulder keeping a hand placed against his waist and held on to the man's loose hand. The younger man walked alongside the road heading down the road watching for passing vehicles.

"What planet are we on?" Smith asked.

"Earth," Franklin said.

"Feels like Preplanis," Smith said. "is it Gulbaris? Did we get dropped off here?"

"Earth," Franklin said.

"The second planet we were stranded on for a year," Smith said.

"We're on Earth," Franklin repeated, annoyed.

"Not that much different from this planet except it had three moons," Smith said. "Remember, Don?"

"Oh my  god, you're hallucinating," Franklin said. "You must have lost a lot of blood."

"Dancing under the moonlight with Judy thinking no one was watching. . ." His eyes slowly fluttered close, briefly. "I was watching," he grew a guilty look on his face. "I was unable to sleep so I watched young love dance in front of the forcefield and my. . . you were quite dashing together." Smith sounded so nostalgic looking off into the distance though he were at the bridge again in the front seat watching them dance outside. "So perfect for each other that was complimenting both of your attributes. Young, pretty, handsome--we are neither of that, anymore. Are we, General? Too old to be pulled into this situation?"

Franklin shifted toward the distant road behind him hearing the sound of wheels and loud humming.

"You are," Franklin said. "But I am not." Franklin stepped forward unwrapping his hand from Smith's waist and waved his hand frantically at the approaching vehicle headed his way. "Hey! Hey! Hey!"

"Being twenty years younger than your friend always helps," Smith added.

A silver green van approached the two coming to a stop in front of Franklin. Smith observed the subtle differences ranging from the big wheels with dark gray blocks in the center lacking tires, the sleek upper frame that was more wide, a black strip that divided the two colors in half, it lacked a rail up front but instead had a glass yellow addition on the lower half, there were two sun roofs that were halfway open being obvious as day, and the doors to the side were slid open to a light gray large interior that had a black family wearing concerned looks. The van was certainly different from the one that he had seen over thirty years ago. More rounder edges, certainly.

"He needs help," Franklin said.

"Andrea, move your chair back," came the woman up front.

One of the two children moved their seats down and slid it forward stepping aside.

"Thank you," Franklin said, moving the man into his arms then brought him inside the van and came to the back.

Franklin slipped the smaller man against the window then the door was closed and the seat was set from behind him. He slipped up the man's legs in order to give himself some more room then rested his eyes. The electric van sped through the very humid scenery. Franklin felt the last of his sweat come down his skin turning his head away. He looked up toward the sun roof in the direction of the blue sky feeling a new found appreciation for being home, again. Earth was kind compared to what was found in outer space. The passing clouds from above seemed like a fluff cotton balls in the atmosphere that seemed calm and serene when really it was fierce and turbulent. The desert scenery was replaced by city buildings. They were several miles away from the prison as determined by the very familiar holographic figures moving from along the buildings. Franklin opened his eyes observing the calm older man man who had a stubble going on and his hair was scattered in a untidy way with sad eyes.

"I am sorry, General West," Smith apologized. He lowered his gaze toward his lap with cupped hands. "I never meant for it to turn out this way."

"Apology not accepted because you are apologizing to my father not to me," Franklin said. " _Smith_."

Smith had a hand on his injury.

"Much as I am confused as to why you're acting like this, two can play at this game," Smith said.

"Uck, game?" Franklin said. "This isn't a game."

"My amusement is running thin, General," Smith said. "It is only fair I repay it."

"Uh, no it isn't," Franklin said.

"How rude," Smith said. "How you wound me."

"Wait," the other woman turned in her chair. "Wait, wait, is that old guy the actor who portrayed  Doctor Smith?"

"The once and only," Smith replied.

"What do you think happened to the Robinsons?" The other woman asked. "In the show."

"They avoided death by cruel means and returned to Earth living happily ever after," Smith said. "Just like real life. If someone were to adapt it into a show."

The other woman looked over in confusion toward West.

"Franklin West," Franklin said. "And that is _really_ Zachary Smith. Real genuine article."

Andrea and her sister gasped.

" **OH MY GOD**!" The driver, a brown woman, shouted loudly making everyone's heart leap.

She came to a stop then looked over in horror and terror at what she was witnessing before her eyes taking in the man's appearance then her eyes shifted toward Franklin like a animal that had been cornered trying to figure out a way out of this situation. She turned her attention on to her partner. She drove onto the street where people jumped out of the way as the brown screeched incoherently making the car fly over a series of cars over her sheer will. Franklin was moved from side to side by the sheer speed the woman was going taking unnecessary moves just to get there. Her partner made the call to the hospital on the way over the bumps that were in the form of cars. She tapped on the touch screen then looked over worryingly. The brown woman came to a stop at the emergency room entrance. The back door to her vehicle was opened by two doctors.

"Which of you is hurt?" the second doctor asked.

"He is," Franklin said, pointing toward Smith as the gurney was brought over. 

Franklin leaned forward sliding the unconscious to his side into the care of the doctors.

They pulled up the side bars and moved the otherwise occupied gurney quickly from the scene.

Franklin leaped out of the van and closed the back door behind him. The van sped off away from the hospital. The young man watched the older man be taken away from him. This time felt final. As though it was the last time that he would ever see Smith again as the doors closed before him and relief finally hit the young man. He looked down to see his trembling hands were covered in Smith's blood. It fully dawned on him that he got someone killed up there feeling his heart sink down from his chest into a river that carried it away ever so gently lowering his gaze toward the ground feeling down. All of his anger toward Smith was redirected at himself. He had let himself be controlled by revenge, a stupid thing, a very stupid thing. The sound of loud, intrusive sirens surrounded the young man.

Officers came out of their cruisers and held their guns out demanding him to hold his hands in the air.  Franklin held his hands up in the air then allowed himself to be cuffed and shoved into a car rather rudely. The car door was slammed and the officers drove off with him to the station. The bad feeling sunk down taking him over. He let out a sigh with a lowered head.  The familiar cuffs were pressed against his skin in a rather uncomfortable way. When he looked up, they had parked at the station and getting out of the car. He moved himself to the side. Franklin came out of the cruiser then was guided into the station where there were long stares coming from those around him and taken into the interrogation room. He seated down into the slick, cold chair and his cuffs were removed then placed back on and shackled to the floor. The two officers left him be.

"What have I done, mom?" Franklin asked. "What have I done?"

Franklin looked up toward the ceiling then pressed his back against the chair, closing his eyes, regretfully.

He sat there sinking in his disappointment in the silence.

A nice chance from the intense, uncertain time in the station.

He lowered his gaze down toward the table that had a notepad and a pen. He picked up the pen and went on to write his confession on the paper. After that, he was bored sitting there rather depressed with his hands on the edge of the table. He couldn't see what was going on from the other side of the mirror but he theorized that it had to be two cops debating how to best start the questioning. Time was ticking by quickly from outside the walls. The door randomly opened letting in two officers wearing grim looks on their faces. He had to tell them the truth and he had evidence on his side.

"Lieutenant Waltercoth, Smith, and I were transported to a station out in space," Franklin said. "I was betrayed by my employer, Lieutenant Waltercoth was murdered before my eyes by a strange machine that fired at every part of her body, and we watched her die," he sighed, lowering his gaze toward the table. "Smith and I were taken to a holding cell. While we were in there, they played with us. One of us, actually," the camera moved to the side to the operation table where the doctors were busy repairing the damage done by the machines. "Smith came to a few hours afterwards. I got out, tried to find the transport room and instead found this green thing waiting for me. It came back for me and revealed itself to me. A anti-matter Robot somehow got here and was there this entire time. We made a escape but the anti-matter Robot was destroyed. Smith fired at everyone. He got hurt by a strange weapon that sent these small things. Then we were transported back to Earth."

"Smith made it through," came the reply. "But there was nothing that you described in him. You are lying to us."

"What happened to Lieutenant Waltercoth?"

"We know you did it. Why did you do it?"

It hit him.

"Larry, stop it," the male officer said, glaring at his colleague. "He doesn't need that."

_Smith convulsing after Franklin had pointed out the lights in the wall._

"Yes, he does, Hank," Larry said. "Where is the knife? Your friends refuse to cooperate about your whereabouts."

_"I knew you were alive! That blast was transporting you somewhere!" Smith insisted. "I knew it! I never doubted you for one moment!"_

"Can't you tell this man is depressed?"  Hank asked, gesturing toward the silent man.

_"That wasn't really nice of you to scare me like that, you ninny!"  
_

"He is not depressed," Bob said.  "He is not being cooperative."

_The host of the rebooted Unsolved Mysteries stood in front of Alpha Control walking alongside the rails, "According to Zachary Smith, he had watched the Robinsons burn alive before his eyes--" the clip  played before the screen with stunt doubles with obvious signs of CGI flames drifting off their figures that were being consumed by the flames. "and unable to do a thing to kill the flames."_

"I have no idea where her body is,"  Franklin said. "Probably floating out in space somewhere or maybe worse. . . her body vaporized."  Just like the Robinsons.

No evidence to bring back that it happened the way it did.

No eyewitnesses to back him up.

And Franklin never felt so horrible in his life for treating Smith the way he did as it occurred this was how he felt being interrogated. 

* * *

Smith's eyes opened finding himself in the recovery room with his dull, aging prison outfit set beside him with the pocket watch set on the top. He saw something set behind it on the lamp. His stomach was sore. Very sore. He felt very rested regarding the circumstance. A part of him wondered what happened to the young West. Chances were, he was probably sent to a super max. A officer came into his recovery room with a nurse beside him. His hands were uncuffed then the officer exited the room. Smith had heavy eyes looking off toward the window watching he streaks of golden light poking through the blinds. The bedding was peeled away and he was moved on to the side of the bed. The nurse helped him get dressed into the prison outfit and take off the hospital gown. She stepped aside then went toward the door ever so slowly. Smith came over to the counter collecting his possession.

The door to his recovery room opened complete with the dreaded chains. The mere thought of putting them back on made him recoil. The belly chain, the wrist cuffs, and the ankle shackles. He allowed himself to be cuffed then wheeled out of the room. He was pushed down the unfamiliar halls. People sitting by the beds of their loved ones and elderly people dying without anyone to care about them (A fate that he would share, some day) in the room that was filed with noises consisting of the beeping of the equipment. The prison transport waited for him like a beast that had been prowling waiting for their captive to grind in its teeth and degrade in various ways that felt like it would never end. It was hell in a nutshell for Smith. A special kind of hell that he had deserved. He stood up from the wheelchair then boarded the prison transport. He sat down into the seat then buckled himself using the straps alongside him. The door was closed in front of him bringing into the familiar dark gray interior.

Smith looked back at his fantasy. Don would have promised him that he would get to the president, one way or another, and ask him to pardon him. He wouldn't want to impose on the Robinsons so he would have declined the offer telling him it was best that he go back where he belonged. The look on Don's face from hearing those words would have been heartbreaking at seeing someone once insistent on getting out of prison have lost that spirit like they had been broken and only looking at him as someone new. A stranger. Smith would have tried to push Will away, knowing, just knowing, if it happened again then there would not be a Robot to come to his aid or a Don West to fire on the aliens before they could kill him. Knowing that he might be lucky the next time something like this happened. The next time, he didn't want Will getting captured with him and his life hanging on the line because of Smith. It would have been on his own terms ending his friendship with the young man but it was a choice that he wouldn't regret. The look of hurt on the younger man's face would have hurt Smith, too, but it had to be done.

Professor Robinson deserved that much and so did Mrs Robinson. Including Will's significant other. After all those times bringing the young boy into danger and this one wasn't any different. Requesting that the next time he was taken, not to set up a rescue with the Robinsons alone and let the United States Space Corps or Stargate Command handle that problem. Burning bridges was something that Smith turned out to be good at. Making enemies out of friends. Saying hurtful words that wounded others and made them reassess their perception on him then step back as his friend. As a spy, these qualities were useful once and useful then at that moment. Scared that one day that Will and the Robot would die rescuing him. It was a unacceptable fact that he could never let happen. He would never tell Will outright but he would say in hints why he was doing it. Implications were always the kind that gave treasure.

The van came to a stop back at the prison. He unbuckled himself then moved in the direction of the door that opened to the sunlight revealing the dark gray familiar compound. He walked down the small stairs then walked around the vehicle so slowly. His chest heavy with guilt and regret. All the things that he could and should have done to push Waltercoth away. It would have saved her life. He would have been grabbed by the shoulder upon his return to prison and more than likely have been taken to the holding cell after being made a example by Amy if she decided not to kill him immediately. They would have came back, alive, only to face a heavily concerned woman. He could hear her voice echoing from beside him trying to cheer him up with a unque joke.

_"Why did the cow jump over General Hospital?" Waltercoth asked._

_"Because it was over it," Smith replied._

_"No, because it was in the way to Dollar General," Waltercoth said, with a loud laugh that echoed through the hall._

_"Very funny," Smith said, rolling his eyes._

_"You're not smiling," Waltercoth said._

_"Smiling isn't everything when it comes to happiness, madame," his words haunting him. "It's all in how it is said."_

_"So you're amused," Waltercoth said._

_"I am," Smith said, then waved his cuffed hands together. "But it's a very bad joke."_

_"You old man," Waltercoth said, growing a big smile on her face with her attention on him._

He wore a frown that remained unchanged. Walking down the familiar corridor to face the silent inmates. He glanced off toward Eyepatch then lowered his head turning it away from him. The door to his cell was opened.  Smith walked into the cell then seated down on to the bed slipping out a small box of stolen tape from his pocket. He set out down to work with his gaze fixated on the pocket watch in a hunched position humming to himself singing. The door closed on him to bring the screen into darkness and the door opened a moment afterwards to reveal a sulking elderly man sitting on the edge of the metal bed holding on to a pocket watch. He turned his head in the direction of the officer to reveal that he was Smith. His bangs had grown shorter, his hair line had gone back considerably, and his once youthful aesthetic was gone replaced by features belonging to a elderly man with miserable eyes. His cheeks had sagged, there was a set of lines alongside both sides of his mouth, his neck and chin line had grown fatter. In his hand was the silver open pocket watch as his fingers trailed along the photograph. He wore a very well aged stare that tore through the officer's soul as though voicelessly saying, 'you are interrupting me and I do not like it'.

"Mr Smith, that Watson kid has lobbied so hard you're going to bring his team to the resting place of the Robinsons," Able said. "I heard they might shorten your sentence afterwards for helping them."

Smith turned his head away with a annoyed sigh clicking the pocket watch close and closed his eyes very disturbed feeling the old ache in his heart be unearthed.

"Oh, the pain," Smith said, sorrowfully. "The pain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god, this story was supposed to be a long ass one-shot that completed the One More Light in Tropical Night trilogy that started from after the scene change which occurs with a door closing on Smith then reopening to reveal Smith is seated in the same position but older. Really older. To be informed he is going back into space to help find their bodies and bring them back home. Then returning to a more massive Jupiter 2.
> 
> WISH ME LUCK.
> 
> Or if you're reading this in the future, just hit next and you'll get the last chapter.
> 
> On the bright side, I got to cover the events mentioned in the previous installment and being canon compliant to my own fanfiction lol. I headcanon that anti-matter Robot killed anti-matter Smith. Because we know for a fact that Maureen would have died had Smith not been there. I refuse to believe that the women and Will in the anti-matter world are dead. They could be heading for Alpha Centauri or have been returned to Earth by the authorities. I base my headcanon off the fact that Anti-Matter Robot remarked that he is the only reason why positive matter Robot exists so therefore it is not hard to jump to that conclusion. Smith did say "Cursed to have everyone who cares about me to perish!" so that's why Waltercoth had to be killed off then stage Anti-matter Robot's death.


	3. Bargaining and Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really admire you for plowing through this novel despite how dark it is. Thanks for waiting!
> 
> No, seriously, I do. Just for waiting for _this_ last chapter. Enjoy!

It had been thirty-seven years since walking into Alpha Control for a nefarious purpose. This time, coming inside Alpha Control to silent officers watching the criminal be guided coming in for a more innocent law abiding purpose. This time the first stop was to the medical wing instead of the highly advanced psychological training lab. It was unfamiliar and bright to his eyes with new designs for the windows that were more rounded and larger than before with unfamiliar metal gear installed at certain parts of the room that stood in for individual rooms lacking walls. The metal had large touch screens lacking frames. He was guided over to a cot that had a nice view of a well kept garden from across through a window. Green grass, several trees coated in small healthy green leaves, a large see through blue pond, and wildlife lurking about the scenery. The first greenery that he had seen in twenty-nine years since his last visit to a alien planet through the Stargate.

"It's a little operation on your head," Doctor Weaver said, her aging eyes on him and her baggy eyes complementing her age. Her once red hair was silver draping over her shoulders and carried a long gray item to her side that kept her up. "It's going to be fine, Zachary."

Smith tilted his head, raising his eyebrows.

"Do I know you?" Smith asked.

"You came into my hospital a long time ago," Weaver said. "Car accident, you were quite a chatterbox."

"That is not who I am anymore," Smith said. "Doctor."

"Thank you," Weaver said.

"For what?" Smith asked.

"For giving me the opportunity to make my most chatting intern get a idea why I removed them from the ER," Weaver said.

"And how did that turn out?" Smith asked, curiously.

"Just fine," Weaver said.

"You don't need to thank me for that," Smith said.

"I really do," Weaver said. "You helped someone without needing to be a doctor."

"I appreciate your intentions," Smith replied, gently raising his hand up from the belly chain. "But I don't _deserve_ to be thanked."

Weaver wore a pitiful look on her face then walked away.

* * *

Smith's eyes fluttered open as he turned his head to the side with a groan. The side of his head felt off. He started to reach forward only to find his hands and arms were restricted by the belly chain keeping it in place that made the chains rattle with the struggle. It felt rounded and small embedded under his skin drilled in to the left temple. It was rounded and small enough to be noticeable, a visible bump from the side of his head. Why they had added it was a mystery to him. He was helped off the bed then moved out of the room past the unfamiliar faces who stared at him. Weaver watched him leave her section of the base as he went through the doors. The scenery grew familiar to him as they took odd twists and turns as though the building itself was larger than before. He came past the physical training lab-the memory of training the Robinsons resurfaced-then turned his head off the newly added window. It was large and circular displaying the pure white interior that matched the equipment in the large by the inside room fitting the futuristic mood of the facility. A fond look grew on his face with nostalgia dripping in his mind.

Smith turned his attention off the window to see what was ahead. The doors rolled open before him leading him to the familiar landing padd. There was a massive saucer ship from ahead of him that made him ignore the crowds of noisy people that were behind thick barriers that had windows. There were reporters struggling to speak over the intensity of the people around them. The officers stopped five feet away from the hangar entrance as did Smith with looks of awe. The landing gears were down keeping the ship well balanced against the floor. There were four landing gears that were easily large enough for a group to walk up. Smith could observe that the landing gear were coming out of different sections of the hull ranging length, he could infer the leading one was from the hangar bay, the second one was directly from engineering, the third one was from the waste deck, and the fourth one was from the residential deck. Based off his reasonable assumptions.

He looked up to see the familiar hatch window and the door that was outlined from the side. The top half was gently spinning revealing the closed front window that was going in slow motion. As if the ship itself were preparing to lift off. For a brief moment, the window barrier was open to reveal Don and John sitting behind it preparing for lift off in Jupiter 2 space uniform. Smith closed his eyes, painfully, then reopened them to see that the front window was closed. The soft humming coming from the spaceship was alien and very unfamiliar. He looked down to see the large deutronium from below the spaceship that were making the familiar high pitched wail. The very familiar sound was easing, comforting to a point that everything was going to be alright through the uncertainty among danger. Across from the three were a clustered group of young people who were laughing.

That had to be the group that he was told about. The members of the rescue team consisted of spaceship pilot/security officer Lieutenant Bobellis, security officer Wyrt, security officer Carly, engineer Kenanan, Doctor Madalyn, Major Watson, animal handler Hamall, and the mostly silent member of the team Lieutenant Sanchisko. He had been filled in heavily regarding Watson's career about his previous missions but he felt like he were being warned about him rather than being debriefed. Something about the man bothered Smith. Almost always did he lose his charge but always return with the required target. Smith looked up to observe the registry of the ship that read in clear: UNITED. STATES. OF. AMERICA - JUPITER 2030. A tall dark, muscular man approached the two officers only coming to a stop directly beside them.

"She is a beauty," came the man.

"I can't believe this is what a Jupiter looks like," came the first officer.

"Trust me, that awe goes away and it becomes old after awhile," the officer's turned their attention on to the man.

"Who might you be?" the second officer asked.

"Major Watson," Watson said, with a nod. "The prison pod is on the residential deck by the galley."

"Yes, sir," the officers said.

"Continue as you were," Watson said.

The two men brought Smith up into the hangar bay that was massive and full of equipment. It had been a long time since he had been here. He recalled the hangar bay being much smaller in size for the Jupiter 2 model. A small circular room with only the necessities that ranged from the deutronium drilling rig, the foldable Chariot, drills, and so on. It felt new and old at once but more elaborate enough to be seen as a flying base of operations. The hangar bay was _always_ cramped but there was always enough room to spare for a single file line to head off the ramp holding on to the equipment. Like the Jupiter 2, there were three entrances (minus the additional one) that lead to different levels. That was then, this is now.

He was guided into the light gray familiar elevator then the first officer pressed on the button to the side. The elevator rolled up with a rumble onto the residential deck. Smith gazed down toward the glowing white glass paneling in the shape of a capitalized 'T' in the center. His gaze went over the edge of the elevator car see the familiar white glass glowing from around the edge with short gray gaps in between. That much hadn't changed since the last time he had used the elevator upon his departure with his hands cuffed with two officers flanking his back. It was the second most familiar aspect of the new Jupiter. The elevator came to a smooth stop drawing his attention up. The first officer slid the rails aside.

Smith observed that the residential deck was different. It seemed to be fitted for a spaceship rather than a house that flew in space. It felt less like _home._ His eyes wandered around taking in the stark changes. Smith stepped out into the familiar light gray paint job that made the drastic changes stand out even more. He looked off expecting to see the door that could be slid to close off the quarters only instead several doorways that had closed doors. He walked on but his eyes were caught by a familiar hue. Noticing the familiar golden tinted floor beneath his feet. His aged blue eyes drifted up toward the wall. Smith counted how many doors there were. One of the doors were large as though it had been intended for the parents. The other doors were smaller in size and more arched in terms of design. The idea that children got to have their own rooms rather than get to share it with their siblings would have been something that would have thrilled the children. Even more good news for the parents if they had that many children needing their own rooms.

How big were families in America these days? Were they larger than five individuals? If the nine smaller rooms were of any indication that it might be a good possibility. Diverse and well blended. He mentally smiled at the imagery, the Robinsons in their silver and orange space suits standing in the residential deck figuring out who took each room had they been given this ship. The eighth room had to belong to the pilot. It was the size of a average door smaller than the rest of the other doorways. He felt like a complete stranger abducted then moved into a alien spaceship with little to no familiar faces to help him settle in. He looked around in awe only coming to a stop making the officers halt in their tracks. There was a familiar recharging station that had a open doorway holding more humanoid figure with pure white skin and armor of the sorts that seemed to fit their alien nature with dark hair and a muscular yet feminine build.

"Alexa Anne for you," came the first officer. "A direct descendant of Sophie the AI. She was meant to be the environmental Android."

"Not anymore," The second officer said. "She is a piece of the ship."

"I never heard of this Sophie the AI," Smith said. "Environmental Robots are never just part of the ship. They're part of the family."

"Philosophical are you?" the first officer asked.

Smith sighed, shaking his head, closing his eyes.

"It isn't radical philosophy," Smith said. "It's fact."

"Coming from a insane man, I think that's a reach," the second officer said, rolling a eye. "Come on."

Smith looked on ahead to see a doorway that lead into the kitchen and beside it was a single cryostasis pod. They came to a stop in front of the pod then unshackled his ankles and removed the belly chain unexpectedly. His elbows relaxed, able to have some form of freedom. There was a monitor attached to the wall from beside the cryostasis pod. He looked over toward it noticing that it was very different from the last time he had seen it. No longer was it a small, cramped piece of furniture sleeker and slightly wider with four wide black slots located where the shoulders were meant to be and a section at the waist as well.

"What about my hands?" Smith asked.

"No can do," The first officer replied.

"I can't sleep like this!" Smith exclaimed. "I'll be aching all over when I wake up."

"Haven't you thought maybe that's the point?" The second officer asked, annoyed.

"The point is not to be aching but to be refreshed," Smith said, his eyes growing big at the last part.

"Our hands are tied on this matter, Mr Smith," The first officer said.

"Can't I have some freedom?" Smith requested. "Gentlemen, please, I won't harm you."

"Much as we like to-we really would-," The first officer said. "It doesn't say in orders to take the hand cuffs off."

The elderly man turned around and climbed into the cryostasis pod. He turned around to face the two men and lifted his arms halfway up, lowered his left hand against the palm of his other hand, then slightly waved his right hand toward the two men.

"Adieu," Smith said, then lowered his hands into his lap clasping aged fingers together.

"Sweet dreams," The first officer said.

Smith closed his eyes in anticipation with a reluctant sigh. A golden light illuminated his figure. The cryostasis pod began to fog up a moment after the machine had been activated. The two officers turned around then walked away from the cryostasis pod as their figures left behind shadows that shrunk in size walking away. The camera moved over toward the vitals to display that his heartbeat was going slower than it should be. The ship trembled lifting up from the large landing pad soaring into the sky with fanfare from behind a massive barrier cheering on the departing Jupiter 2030. The crowd's screams distant drawing low and lower over the sound of the hitch pitch wail belonging to the mother ship. The mothership left a large shadow behind lingering on the crowd until it, too, grew smaller in size being small as the tip of a pen until it was no more. The camera came on to the bridge fleeing out of the bridge into the conference room doing a complete 180 to get a good view of it to face the bridge then slowly strolled back into the bridge.

The crew were in their cryostasis pod fast asleep as were the dogs in the large booth. The camera rotated around the light gray scenery observing the familiar old equipment with a sleeker console covered in plenty plenty of glowing light casings surrounded by colorful buttons from above the two joy sticks, more chairs, and a astrogator that hadn't changed at all. It bubbled from side to side in a gentle manner most similar to how a toy ballerina danced in a music box full of grace and care. The camera went through toward the rooms connected to the conference room leading to the quarantining section that had large hazard suits ranging in height and size folded neatly in a part of the large room. There was a laboratory that had everything put away, a shooting range, and a virtual reality room covered in touch screens from top to bottom to side to name a few. The massive Jupiter tore through the atmosphere making the exit leaving behind Earth with several parts of America visibly still reeling from a nuclear attack with parts of the land appearing to be large craters where paved aging roads ended but the green was taking over the tell-tale signs of total destruction.

* * *

Much like no one knew that the cryostasis pod was tampered with, there was another event unfolding hundreds if not thousands of miles beneath the surface to a planet sweeping into what was a factory of some kind. The ground was loudly trembling as were the tools laid underneath a pink hand that was reaching out for a item but stopped momentarily. The camera swept up to reveal the unchanged Android Smith looking off into the direction wearing a caught off gaze. He slammed the lid to the tool box close bolting in the direction of the Stargate. He dropped the tool box on to the main computer, grabbed a black remote covered in colorful buttons, making a run for it. Android Smith grabbed a hold on to the strap attached to a thin sleek black weapon.

"I will get it!" Android Smith called.

The camera swept back over into the Gate Room that had a otherwise golden body of water rather than blue. The golden light was contrasting well against the darkness.

Android Smith came to a stop behind a large cargo box.

A blonde woman with curly hair came running out of the gate, panting, well aged holding on to a bulky black device that had the shape of a retro rifle and wore a backpack. Android Smith lowered the gun as the face seemed very familiar. From behind the woman came another woman but younger with dark brown hair that was in a bun with fuzzy hair bangs covering a wound on her shoulder with a dark backpack strapped along her figure. She ducked and shots came flying out of the gate. A final figure came out of the gate and fired back into the gate. A young boy with blonde hair came from behind him coming into the arms of the two women. The older man ran down the stairs joining the small group. Firing shots came out of the gate sending the older man falling to his side clenching on to his arm.

"Dad!" the young boy shouted, lunging forward toward the older man.

The gate closed with a great unusual thud.

"Damn Zelatos!" the older man swore, closing his eyes with a wince as the women gathered around him.

It had to be duplicates of the Robinsons from the second year while lost in space. There wasn't a duplicate of the original Smith among them. There was originally four duplicates of the group, much to what Will had explained the next morning after his return, created to help a species of alien people learn to live again. They may have completed their purpose, out grew their original perimeters, and became sapient. No more were they the robotic duplicates that Will had explained. Duplicate Judy placed down her backpack and took off a white knapsack from the center of it. Android Smith walked around the cargo boxes coming over to the dial home device and gently pressed on each dial.

"How did they find us this time?" Duplicate Penny asked.

"How the hell should I know," Duplicate Don said, as Judy disinfected the wound then placed on a white bandage on to the injury. "Thanks, Judy." he looked over toward the younger boy with a smile. "I told you. . ." his eyes winched in pain then looked up toward the boy. "we would get to somewhere safe, Joshua."

The sound of the chevrons running drew their attention up toward the Stargate.

"Oh no," Duplicate Penny said. "They found us, _again_."

"No," Android Smith raised his voice. "They have not."

Their attention went toward the man with looks of shock.

"You," Duplicate Judy said.

"I am sending you to a nice place where you can settle down and thrive without any kind of enemies being able to find you," Android Smith said. "This gate doesn't tend to let aliens in armor make it through."

"Smith _?_ " Duplicate Don said, looking up toward Android Smith. Android Smith nodded. " _Smith_!"

It was funny how different, yet very unfamiliar the duplicate Don was. But, the irritated expression on his face hadn't changed. His once brown hair had turned to dark gray with streaks of gray appearing in it but receded, his eyebrows had turned to dark gray but were thinning, there were more laughter lines set alongside his eyes, two lines by both sides of his nose, and lines that gathered from the center of his forehead. He grabbed on to his space gun then aimed it at the direction of the android convict. Android Smith held a remote aimed that device that temporarily neutralized the weapon wearing a long expression on his face as he lowered the remote on to the dial home device.

"Smith unit?" Duplicate Judy said, looking toward him.

"Android Smith," Android Smith said. "You must go," a gust of blue clouds blew out then returned inside. "This isn't safe."

"Coming from someone who is still alive after thirty years, I find that hard to believe," Duplicate Don said.

"Thirty-seven years, _sir,_ " Android Smith corrected. "two days, four hours, and thirty-three minutes ago. Leave. Now."

"It has only been thirty-seven years?" Duplicate Don asked.

"Feels a lot less to me," Duplicate Penny said.

"We just got here," Duplicate Judy said.

"This factory will only make android copies of you stuck at this age, _forever,_ " Smith said, walking aside the large dial. "This factory will be the only thing keeping you alive and you have to maintain it to survive!" he came toward the group. "I watched the original Robinsons die," he helped duplicate Penny up to her feet. "I won't watch the duplicate Robinsons unravel before my eyes!" he sent duplicate Judy stand up including the young boy and sent them forward in the direction of the gate.

Android Smith picked up the white box and closed it placing it into the white knapsack.

"Wait a minute," Duplicate Don said, stepping in the way with a accusatory look on his face and his hands out. "What happened to the original Robinsons?"

The white knapsack was handed to the younger woman while giving the large backpack to her with the other hand.

"They were consumed by flames," Android Smith said, sincerely.

"Did you cause that?" Duplicate Don asked.

"No," Android Smith said. "But. . . I feel every day that I _did_ cause it."

"Robinsons, go through the gate," Duplicate Don said. "I will be right behind you."

"Alright," Duplicate Judy said, then took the boy's hand and walked through the gate.

"The Zelatos are going to find this gate address and find us," Duplicate Don said. "They can use the crystals," he gestured toward the dial home device. "and make the gate turn back on again on the old address. How they are doing it . . . we have no idea."

"What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into?" Android Smith asked, raising a brow with a tilt of his head.

"Reuniting together and looking for Alpha Centauri," Duplicate Don said. "We may have made lots of enemies."

"Your journey will come to a end behind that gate," Android Smith said. "Not Alpha Centauri but it is very Earth like," as Duplicate Penny went through the gate. "and the locals are very understanding for travelers," Duplicate Don wore a wary look. "In fact, they were once travelers themselves until they came here." He grew a fond smile at the memory looking off from the duplicates.

"You sent them there," Duplicate Don said.

"They had no where else to go," Android Smith said.

"Really?" Duplicate Don asked

"Altair is a deadbeat planet and not often do people dial here," Android Smith said. "People only come here when they are desperate to escape."

"You came here to escape something," Duplicate Don said.

"I did but I didn't succeed," Android Smith replied, casting his eyes down toward the floor with a look of pity at what he knew. He turned his attention back toward the duplicate. "You can never escape your undoing," he had the faintest of a sad-but-happy smile appear. "Will would be so proud to see you acting human."

"He would," Duplicate Don said, growing a fond smile. "Wouldn't he?" he had a laugh.

"Yes," Android Smith agreed, with a laugh. "He would."

"Haven't you bothered going out there?" Duplicate Don asked, gesturing over his shoulder.

"Only for emergencies," Android Smith said. "I have so much power in my battery to keep me operating when away."

"But you just said that this station is the only thing keeping you alive," Duplicate Don said, earning a nod from Smith.

"You don't want that kind of existence for your son," Android Smith replied Android Smith noticed the wedding band and the make-shift engagement ring then turned his attention up onto the man. "I love to go with you and get to know your family, but that is not my place anymore. . ." Android Smith clasped his hands together "and I feel I know enough about you, Major Robinson." There was a unusual sound that filled the air around them as the lighting grew red.

Duplicate Don grew a look of pride at the mention of his last name returning a nod.

"Did they ever get together?" Duplicate Don asked.

"No," Android Smith said, shaking his head. "They never did."

"Goodbye, Android Smith," Duplicate Don said, then walked through the gate.

The gate closed behind the duplicate leaving Smith alone.

"Zachary Smith," Teal'c said. "I heard the gate opening."

Android Smith turned in the direction of Teal'c.

"Duplicates of the Robinsons," Android Smith said, as the strange sounds went away fading into the background. "Who happen to have made the wrong people angry." with a happy smile on his face picking up the weapon from the dial home device as he came toward the taller man.

The camera went toward the gate then swept by it as the scene changed into a forest. They were in a clearing feet away from a Stargate that was suitable to start a log house. The duplicates were looking around admiring the scenery seen about it. A smile was on duplicate Penny's face seeing the familiar blue sky that lacked any flying space crafts. The young boy seemed to be in awe observing the distant moons that stood out among the blue sky. For the first time in a very long time, the Robinsons felt home. The soft sounds coming from the forest had drawn their attention that was filled with hope, optimism, awe, and wonder.

"Judy," Duplicate Don said, approaching the well aged blonde. "Did you dial the previous planet at random?"

"Yes," Duplicate Judy said. "I don't remember what I hit."

"You dialed the right planet, mom," Joshua said, looking up toward his mother. "We are home."

* * *

The health screen sizzled alongside Smith's cryostasis pod with text being blurred, text being out of order, and colorful lines flickering on the screen. The text changed from one year to eight hours as the glitching sound continued from the screen until it solidified showing not a sign of a glitch. The camera drew back over toward the pod coated in light gray. The mist on the cryostasis pod drew back once the golden light emitted from the criminal's figure. Smith stumbled out landing to his side against the wall. He looked around searching for members of the team that he had seen earlier. There was no one there. He furrowed his brows walking forward in a searching manner very wary. Smith turned around then walked over to the series of screens embedded into the wall with a 1960's flair to it featuring a bulky keyboard partially sticking out from underneath the screen. He looked down toward the lower screen that read in full 'TIME LIMIT: EIGHT HOURS'. He had only been inside the stasis pod for eight hours. It became apparent they were taking the long way to the planet.

"Hello, anyone there?" Smith called, turning away from the cryostasis pod. "Anyone?"

There was silence in the room asides to the warm hum of the engines.

"Anyone?" Smith said, walking forward with great care and caution. "Hmm. . . that's odd."

Smith came into the elevator then slid open the rails with ease then moved his hands up to the familiar button pointing up.

"This is very strange," Smith said, as the elevator rumbled up. "Very strange."

A highly shocking, painful sensation tore through the side of his head circulating throughout his body sending Smith down to the floor screaming in pain. The pain ceased once he hit the floor. Smith lifted himself up to be struck by it again landing back where he had started. His eyes swept the familiar bridge with the large astrogator in the way and he could see the edge of a foot to a officer peeking through the transparent glass of the cryostasis pod. He was left in a pickle with no clear way out of the problem. He flopped over to his side then dragged himself to the corner of the elevator. He wasn't going to starve here, he wasn't going to die of thirst, and he wasn't going to be electrocuted to death. The will to survive screamed loudly from the elderly man while lifting himself up against the pain sizzling from the side of his forehead and brought up section of rail by rail until he was up to his feet.

The elderly man flung himself against the side railing of the elevator kept in place by the barrier in front of him. He moved his fingers on to the edge searching for the buttons as burns were forming from along his head. He slid his hands down where his fingers were greeted by two elevated, rounded surfaces. He pressed the second button sending himself falling to the floor in a clump landing on to his side and steam radiated off his head while whimpering in pain. There was a newly formed cut trailing in his thinning hair to the side with blood oozing out. He had survived. He had survived. He had survived. The elderly man sighed, in relief, feeling the soft pain from his head.

" _Help me_. . . Someone. . . Help me. . ." Smith cried, weakly and tiredly. No one was there to help, not this time, not this time. "Help."

He could feel his consciousness fading.

No, he wasn't ready to go. No, he wasn't-he wasn't and with that, he found the energy to scream repeatedly.

" _ **HELP**_!"

From the recharge unit, the android's eyes fluttered open in a way that was human and her brown eyes fit well against her demeanor.

" _ **HELP**_!"

The recharge station slide up from her neck, to her head, and came to a stop from above her head.

" _ **HELP**_!"

The neon lights remained on from above Alexa Anne.

" _ **HELP**_!"

Her facial movements seemed human displaying a curious yet alarmed expression on her face.

" _ **SOMEONE. HELP ME**_!"

She walked out of the Android Lab heading in the source of the screaming.

" _ **PLEASE** **!"  
**_

The Android came to a stop in front of the barrier then moved the railing aside.

" _ **HELP**_!"

Smith looked up to see the figure and stared at her in horror.

"I am Alexa Anne," Alexa Anne said, she scanned his face then chucked it through facial recognition software. "I am help."

"Oh dear," Smith said, as she knelt down to him and blacked out.

A set of files popped up displaying his history. The files said this man wasn't part of her family unit. This man was the convicted former colonel, ex-physician of the Robinsons, once a doctor: _Zachary Smith_. Why was he aboard her ship? Why did she lack her family unit? Was her ship turned into a space prison? Were they taking him somewhere? The thought bothered her. Alexa Anne gently picked him up into her arms like he were a delicate doll that had to be held properly. She made her way down the corridor listening to the snores that began to come from the elderly man. The doors wooshed open before her leading into a white room. She placed him down on to a white bed that crunched statically against the weight of his body. She slid up the feet rests allowing his feet to rest with support.

Alexa Anne went to work repairing the injury from the side of his skull wearing long see through gloves that reached up to her elbows. She carefully applied a cloth of cool water then applied the cool press to the man's head. His snoring was carried in the small medical room. She observed the swelling decrease in size over the passing hours and then took it off once it was down a certain level. She applied a antibiotic ointment to the wound, placed the material back into their designated places, and picked him up then carried him down out of the medical room. She chose one of the smaller quarters that had a single bed carefully moving in making sure that he didn't hit his head on the doorway. The doors automatically closed behind her then seated him down into a chair. She set the bed up by moving the blankets aside and moved him into the bed. Her energy level was down so after checking his vitals and ensuing that he was safe and sound after tucking him in, Alexa Anne left the room then turned around and locked it for safe keeping. She returned to her recharge station coming to a stop underneath it it. The rounded sections came down and rested above her head.

* * *

Smith's eyes fluttered open with sore, aching hands. He began to awake turning his gaze down toward his hands to find the silver bands binding his wrists together. How great. He had been bleeding out on the floor for god knows how long-wait, he wasn't on the floor. He was on a bed. He turned toward his side feeling lethargic observing the scene around him. Smith gently lead himself down the bed with care by sliding forward his legs on the edge then propped himself up by his elbow and placed his hands onto the blanket. He moved it aside and noticed that he was still wearing his shoes. He forced off the black shoes sending them to the floor where they hit with a thud. There was something on the side of his head right alongside his embedded electrocution device. Anti-bridge machine? Could be. That wasn't quite a elegant, straight to the point name.

The elderly man set aside the blanket. He moved from alongside the bed making his way to the wall set to his left. He pressed a large button set beside a large, circular window. In a series of friendly beeps, the door to the large window swept up to reveal the all too familiar scenery. Forgetting the scene of stars moving from around him as the ship flew through space ever so gently like a boat being rocked against by the force of the waves that lapped on the wood. It was gloomy standing in front of the window standing in the dark within the bright room. He took out a silver well aged pocket watch that had been chipped away, scratched, bruised, and not bright as once had been. The silver hoop seemed to be kept together by super glue that made the cracks in it seem visible. He peeled open the pocket watch very carefully. The silver light from the photograph outshined the fading golden from the photograph letting a comforted sigh escape from him. He wanted to be fifty-four, again, not eighty-nine tethered above ninety.

His fingers gently closed the lid to the pocket watch as though it were delicate and moved it into his pocket. He pressed on the button that made the window close the sight of space leaving him with the allusion that he was in a highly stylized bedroom in a house. A highly stylized cell that was better than the small cell that he had lived in. He looked back toward the bed that was more space like rather than human made. It had the same material that he used to crawl under while lost in space and sleep. Warm light gray material that seemed slick and new but familiar at the same time. Except the blanket was much larger to accommodate for several people. It was the space burrito bed that he also came to notice that the second flap was laid on the bed while the other half was curled aside. The pillow seemed to retain its shape. He pressed his hands down on to then reached it back and watched it bounce back right back into shape. There wasn't that much different between the pillows. Smith moved toward the door and observed it searching for a visible weakness to exploit.

Which there was none to take advantage of. He knocked on the door lightly searching for a weak point and kicked at it repeatedly. There was no weakness in the doors. Smith paced the room contemplating his next move. Obviously, someone was awake on the ship. Obviously, someone had taken care of him-Smith walked into the bathroom to find the mirror displayed his healing face. He tilted his head to the side observing long, thin strands of dark lines set in his silver hair. Someone had well tended to his stitches. He walked out of the bathroom and the doors automatically closed behind him. He jumped turning around as it finally struck him. He looked around for diamonds alongside the doorway. Commonly waved at or pressed on by aliens to open the doorway to another part of the ship. At his presence, the doors opened before him automatically. Smith stepped back in amazement. His eyes grew big in awe slowly turning his attention up. He bolted and came toward the other door that he knocked on repeatedly crying for help. The door opened to reveal the android standing before him with her hands linked behind her back.

"That does not make sense," Alexa Anne said. "I observe no recent injuries on your person."

"No," he let out a sharp in take of air then lowered his head, guiltily, raising it up. "But I am scared and confused."

Alexa Anne raised her eyebrows.

"Confused?" Alexa Anne asked. "Is that a human emotion?"

"All living beings feel confusion," Smith replied. "And I am terribly sorry regarding this way that we have met properly."

"You were a criminal," Alexa Anne said.

"Still am," Smith said.

"Why are you on my ship?" Alexa Anne asked.

"I am being transported to another planet," Smith said.

"State the purpose," Alexa Anne requested.

"To lead the crew to the Robinsons," Smith said, walking away then slumped against the wall allowing Alexa Anne to enter as he wore a distant look. "A useless trip."

"Why?" Alexa Anne asked, tilting her head.

"There are _no remains_ to retrieve," Smith said.

"My vessel is not a prison transport," Alexa Anne said.

Smith sharply turned toward her.

"It's a military vessel, madame," Smith said. "It can be whatever they want it to be."

"It is a multi generational spaceship," Alexa Anne said.

"Used to be," Smith said, lowering his gaze toward the floor. "used to be."

"Explain," Alexa Anne said, drawing his gaze up.

"It ran into a problem that couldn't keep its family," Smith sat down on to the bed. "Or sustain life for so long," he shrugged. "Now, I have find out these glitches for myself."

The bathroom door opened and closed drawing their attention.

"I will turn the ship around," Alexa Anne said.

"How excellent!" Smith sarcastically said, lifting himself up to his feet with difficulty. "You'll be dismantled or better yet taken apart to become a toy baby that needs to be taken care of!" he threw his hands up briefly in the air. "And I will be put into a pod, reawakened one year from now, and be forced to dig up old memories and spend six months planet side where they will not stop looking for their bodies over my repeated relay of what happened. No one LISTENS to me about that day! And then, everything will become more darker than it was before because eventually they will jump to another nasty conclusion. That _I_ ate them and made sure to put their bones in the galley then scatter their ashes out in space where they would be forever more."

The elderly man sat down on to the edge of the bed brewing with fury that seemed to be radiating off his figure and his hands were trembling on his knees as the camera moved up to reveal that he was trembling all over. Smith raised his hands up toward his face and wept. Alexa Anne did not know what to do when it came to the prisoner. She went through several simulations in her head regarding would happen if she approached him. He was a dangerous criminal known to manipulate anyone when it came to his well being and known to murder people when they had gotten in his way. Smith set his hands down into his lap looking up toward the ceiling back to a reasonable calm and his face showed how tired he was, emotionally, not physically. It seemed he was being held down by a heavy weight as she walked away.

"You could at least take me back to my pod and make sure I stay there," Smith said, his words like a dozen hot and sharp pointed swords that stabbed into the android's back. "By changing the orders to a specific time from a year for now."

"I do not know if you are meant to be out of it," Alexa Anne said. "Your pod may have been programmed to set you out initially with a correctional officer."

"And where is that correctional officer?" Smith asked.

Alexa Anne looked away, contemplating, then turned her attention toward the expectant elderly man.

"I do not know why they are not here," Alexa Anne said.

"If it that were meant to be that way then surely they would have been waiting for me," he raised his white, thinning eyebrow up.

"They would," Alexa Anne said.

"But. . ." Smith started.

"There is chances I was the designated individual to be tightly aware of your whereabouts," Alexa Anne said.

Smith lowered his brow then rolled his eyes.

"Considering yourself as the designated security officer is not in your function, madame," Smith said. "Had they decided on that matter then they would have put that into your personality matrix." He shook his index finger at her. "You would not be the same."

"I would be the same person," Alexa Anne said.

Smith squeezed his eyes shut.

"You really wouldn't," Smith said.

"That certainty is highly unnecessary and very negative," Alexa Anne said. Smith sighed, opening his eyes with his fingers clasped together in front of his chin and his two index finger placed against the bottom of his lips. "There is only one conclusion that makes sense: your pod was sabotaged."

"Baaah," he waved his left hand in the air with his right hand clutched in a fist within the palm of his free hand. "It was a glitch. If it were sabotaged then we would be adrift in a section of space away from familiar constellations and no way to return everyone back home," He clasped his hands loudly together smacking his palms. "I have not been important to anyone . . ." his eyes cast down toward the floor with a fond look in his eyes looking back at better times. "in _a very long time_."

"Finding the Robinsons corpses is important to someone," Alexa Anne said.

Smith rubbed his chin turning his attention up toward her.

"Why don't you check for yourself regarding my issue on the bridge?" Smith suggested.

"That, I will," Alexa Anne said, then walked off and the door closed behind her.

The camera focused behind Smith watching his shoulders lower as did his head as he took a sigh. It followed her down the hall, into the elevator, watched her go up, and joined her on the bridge following right behind her figure. The barrier was no longer covering the window. She placed aside the rail moving into the bridge gazing around the scenery. She came over to the recording device set alongside from the hatch door and pressed on the button expecting for a mission statement to be given. There was none that were given. She turned the recording device off then counted the cryostasis pods. There were ten of them in total, all designed for one human, rather than eleven cryostasis pods. She never was able to attempt to full her function for her family.

She observed the lack of a eleventh cryostasis pod that its space occupied by a large booth. She walked toward. Her blue eyes scanned the presence of German Shepherd. She raised her eyebrow in alarm. Dogs on the bridge? It added up to what he had told her and it seemed that they had brought the dogs in case he wasn't being exactly truthful. Why did his pod seemingly malfunction? And only his pod? She looked back at the obvious signs of glitching from the doors. She rubbed her chin walking right back into the elevator. She closed the barrier then pressed on the button sending it down and brought the barrier forward. She opened the barrier aside once returning to the residential deck of the ship and walked down the hall processing what do with the criminal. Logically, she had to put him back inside the cryostasis pod. She had no interest in being dismantled and saw it in her chance to being used for a family unit. The doors automatically opened before the android.

"No information regarding my status," Smith said.

"Yes," Alexa Anne said.

Smith sighed.

"Oh well," Smith had difficulty getting up to his feet so Alexa Anne came over then brought him up to his feet. The elderly man grew stiff, feeling her fingers pressed against his aged shoulders bringing back uncertainty and terror in to the forefront of his mind. His mind reached out into the present hooking on to _safesafesafesafesafe_. "Now please, lower your hand to my elbow."

Alexa Anne lowered her hand down to his elbow wearing a puzzled look.

"Thank you," Smith said, gratefully. The tense, stiff demeanor faded away. "Back to a lifetime of hell I go."

Alexa Anne grew a concerned expression acknowledging the bitter, angry, tired tone in his voice.

"I do not believe that is not the intention of being in prison," Alexa Anne said, guiding him out the doors. "It is meant to be a rehabilitation facility."

Smith grunted.

"For some people, it is," Smith said.

Alexa Anne brought him to the pod. She slid out a thick keyboard out of the wall from beneath one of the screens and typed in her code.

"Code not accepted," the computer announced.

Alexa Anne furrowed her eyebrow.

"Code not accepted," the computer announced.

Smith watched her third attempt with intense speed banging on the keys.

"Code not accepted," the computer announced.

The loud beating on the keys repeated.

"Code not accepted," the computer announced.

Smith stepped aside then slid in front of her partially.

"It responds to the commands of Major Watson, Captain Hamall, and First Lieutenant Doctor Madalyn," Smith said. "You are not in the chain of command anymore, Alexa Anne."

Alexa Anne shifted toward him.

"I cannot wake up the crew," Alexa Anne said. "It is against the rules not to awaken them when there is no danger."

"I am not asking you to, madame," Smith said. "You're stuck with me for the foreseeable future," he rubbed his stomach as a grumble came from him. "Oh dear," he looked up toward the android. "Can you please take off these cuffs and allow me to make food for us?"

Alexa Anne tilted her head raising a arched eyebrow that seemed unhuman going over the edge where the eyebrow curved over.

"Androids cannot consume," Alexa Anne said.

"Course," Smith said, nodding his head. "But this organic needs to."

Alexa Anne took out a hair clip from her hair then bent it and eyed at him suspiciously.

"How can I be sure that you will not attempt to reprogram me?" Alexa Anne asked.

"If you recall, I have been out of the loop in the advancements of Robotology-" Smith started to say but was interrupted.

"It is Androidology, Zachary Smith," Alexa Anne cut him off watching what was left of his soul leave his body.

"For so long that I have no idea how you operate," Smith said. "The best psychologists, programmers, and engineers worked on creating you tiredlessly for hours," he walked around her very slowly. "They did a very good job on making you human but robotic in a way."

Alexa Anne took out a thin paper clip from her breast pocket wearing a wary expression toward him.

"I will uncuff you outside of the kitchen," Alexa Anne said.

"You still don't trust me?" Smith asked, hurt. He observed the 'is that a trick question' expression from her. "Right," He shook his head then nodded to himself. "I forgot who I was for a moment." He looked up toward the android as a though had suddenly occurred to him. "You do realize I can take a meat cleaver from the kitchen and attack you if I wanted to."

"Are you threatening me?" Alexa Anne asked.

Smith shook his head, disappointed.

"If you don't trust me then what is the point of going into the galley, alone, where you wouldn't know what I was up to?" Smith asked. "Or. . . You can watch me cook inside the galley if you are so interested in making sure I do not attempt to harm such fine, intricate beauty."

"I cannot be broken," Alexa Anne said. "But I can be damaged."

"Anything can be broken by sheer determination," Smith said. "Why don't you make the food if you don't trust me?"

"I am not made to cook," Alexa Anne said.

"But the logic is sound, isn't it?" Smith asked.

"I cannot leave you unattended," Alexa Anne said. "I cannot put you back into the pod for more than eight hours, and I cannot leave you in the way of sharp objects."

"Yes," Smith said.

She squinted her eyes at him.

"We are going in _circles_ ," Alexa Anne said, hiding her frustration behind her voice.

Smith lightly clapped his hands loudly together.

"Ah!" Smith said, pleasantly. "The most novel conversation I have had in. . ." He looked off, distantly, then looked over toward the woman with a unhappy expression on his face that seemed more dead than alive. Every letter that came sounded heavy and dull. " _Twelve years."_ He held his index finger up. "But you can leave me in the temporary quarters, lock the doors, and make it yourself."

"I am not built to cook," Alexa Anne insisted. "It is not in my function."

"Back to the point in question," Smith asked, bending his index finger. "Is it logical to distrust someone who has no interest in taking apart a android? A doctor, a protector, and as a companion? Being stuck in my personal hell with no one to help me in this mother ship should it get damaged by a minimeteorological storm or a ion storm? I can't exactly go up with this bridge shocker in my head," he raised his clasped hands up and pointed toward the wound earning a dawning realization from her. "and do the repairs." he lowered his hands down.

"You went to the bridge," Alexa Anne said.

"To see if I wasn't alone," Smith said.

"This doesn't mean you will not be cuffed when I am moving you from room to room," Alexa Anne said.

"There is no one on this ship, asides to us, awake." Smith reminded her.

"It's standard procedure," Alexa Anne said.

" _Standard_ ," it sounded like Smith was going to crack. " ** _Procedure."_**

"Yes," Alexa Anne said.

"That procedure is meant to work with _people_ around," Smith was keeping himself calm pointing his fingers to the empty space around the android.

"Why are you shouting at me?" Alexa Anne said.

Smith clenched his hands, concealing his rage, with only a spark of anger lighting up his eyes.

"Because you haven't gotten it into your head that I am a _tired_. _hungry_. _elderly. criminal,_ " Smith said. A stark contrast from his over-the-top dramatics now punctuating his words for emphasis.

"Eight hours before our arrival to the destination, you will be cuffed and placed back into your cell," Alexa Anne said. "and I will delete all information pertaining to our journey before going into the recharge station."

"I won't tell," Smith said.

The look on his face easily said he wasn't willing to go through being not believed, again.

"Come along," Alexa Anne said, taking him by the elbow, gently.

Smith seemed distant moving along to the woman. Like he wasn't entirely there in the first place but somewhere else more kinder to him. Lost in thought on a distant subject. She came to a stop in front of the doors that opened before him then slid in the long plastic item into the keyhole and twisted it until the cuffs went lose on his wrists. Smith turned around to face the galley rubbing his left wrist looking on unsure, and hesitantly, slowly walking in to a darkened room. Five steps in, the lights flickered on before Smith. The galley had turned into a more elaborate kitchen but the oven in the wall remained otherwise the same connected to a very long, thin table made of glass that was sleeker and less rounded than before. And the seats were made of glass as well.

The door closed behind Smith as Alexa stood to the side. The elderly man plenty of noise from inside the room which sounded like he were in hand to hand combat with a robot. She peeked into the galley to observe the man was grating down a chunk of cheese onto a plate glaring back at her. Her audios had to be deceiving her. She slowly retracted her head out of the room watching him not blink a eye. Even after the doors were closed, Alexa Anne could feel his eyes staring into her in a very unsettling way. She contemplated how to best make the man be occupied throughout the long trip while looking down toward the floor going through several activities that could be done aboard ship. She listened to the sound of water being ran hitting the sink consistently that she could count how many drops of water were landing to the slick surface. Five minutes afterwards, the water stopped and the sound of a plate being put away was heard including a piece of silverware.

The doors opened before Smith to reveal Alexa Anne standing feet away from the doorway with her hands linked behind her back.

"Do you enjoy gardening?" Alexa Anne said.

"I used to do it," Smith admitted.

"Have you done any gardening in prison?" Alexa Anne said.

"Prison is not the kind of place where a average human can tend to a garden," Smith said.

"You mean to say you haven't been allowed to do gardening," Alexa Anne said.

"Yes," Smith said. "Hydroponics were a luxury."

"We have a botanical garden that is allowed to grow as it needs to," Alexa Anne said. "I have never been in there in there but I am aware that it is in the upper deck."

"Upper deck?" Smith asked.

"Yes, Zachary Smith," Alexa Anne said.

"Mr Smith would do," Smith said, shaking his left hand. Then he added with a bitter tone, "The only ones allowed to call me by Smith are my friends." that indicated he had none. He grew a curious expression on his face. "What do you mean by upper deck?"

"It is above the bridge," Alexa Anne said.

"Above the bridge," Smith repeated, raising his brows. "I don't recall seeing a dome on the top."

"We don't need to. Back in your day, people used to call it hydroponics. It's been providing oxygen throughout the ship," Alexa Anne said. "I cannot be sure about the botanical garden current status at this moment. It was planted and allowed to grow on its own while the family were in cryostasis."

"Not a navigation system on the top?" Smith asked.

"It does have a navigation system on the top," Alexa Anne said. "The garden is _underneath_ the navigation system."

"Are you sure that it won't get overgrown by weeds?" Smith said.

"I am very certain," Alexa Anne said. "There is a anti-plant field that vaporizes any plant trying to reach the final floor."

"I'll have to be sitting down when we start the ride," Smith said.

"That can be arranged," Alexa Anne said, then lead him out of the room.

The doors closed behind them.

* * *

Alexa Anne stepped out of her recharge station at the terrified screaming coming from Smith's cabin. She ran fast as she could and stepped in the way of the doorway leading to his quarters to see the man thrashing from side to side as though struggling to break free from binds keeping his hands together. She ran to his side getting onto the bed and picked him up then performed a comforting gesture rubbing his back as he was held close to her. She sang to him in a calming, soothing voice that began to ease the symptoms of the night terror. His figure was trembling as he screamed out of terror.

"NO, PLEASE! PLEASE, TURN THE LIGHTS ON, PLEASE!" Terrified and scared. "DON'T LEAVE ME IN HERE WITH THEM!"

His figure became relaxed, eased, and his hands dropped to his lap five minutes in to the night terror as she reached the ending.

"I won't leave you in the dark," Alexa Anne said.

She got out of bed then moved her way toward one of the panels. She came to a stop in front of the panel then switched the settings of the quarters to a soothing light blue that seemed fluid, friendly, and comforting. Smith's hands were out stretched clenching onto the blanket while resting on his side. She exited the quarters then returned to her recharge station. Smith called for her, again, this time needing help getting up from slipping and landing on his rear. When she looked at what he had slipped on; Alexa Anne began to chuckle, snort, cackle, and finally turned into laughter earning a curious look from the unharmed elder who she reached a hand out for. He had slipped on a black sock that had fallen out of the laundry basket. When she opened her eyes, the episode was repeating so she left the recharge station and returned only to find that the room had entered pitch black.

He had forgotten about the night terror. Alexa Anne soothed him down until he was calm and in better spirits leaving her visibly bothered. Then did the same task as she did before and returned to her recharge station. It happened three more times leaving her standing by his bedside contemplating how to approach the issue. She looked over toward the pocket watch on the table then carefully slid it open and moved back toward the control console changing the lighting, again. She moved back toward the photograph and scanned the image identifying them as the Robinsons and their pilot, Don West. She turned her attention up toward the snoring elderly man. It occurred to Alexa Anne that she was invading his privacy so she carefully closed the pocket watch that was set near a wrist watch covered in scratches, a few dents itself, and chipped at some parts. She walked out of the cabin then folded her arms patiently waiting for him to wake up. The dark halls began to light up section by section. The doors automatically opened with a woosh and a tired Smith came out only to stop.

"Alexa Anne?" Smith said. "I did not call for help."

"Zachary Smith, you have night terrors every time you sleep in the dark," Alexa anne said.

"I do not have night terrors," then he looked off toward the floor "Usually." He turned his attention back on to her. "I am sorry about that."

"Your nightmares have started since your time on this ship," Alexa Anne said.

"It has," Smith said, then he had a heavy sigh. "Care to come in and sit down?"

Alexa Anne nodded then walked in folding her arms and made her way over to the table across from his bed.

"I am listening," Alexa Anne said.

"A long time ago. . ." Smith said, visibly trembling. "I was held on a spaceship as captive." he sat down placing his hands on to the table. "Happened before you were even thought of," he had a sigh closing his eyes, momentarily, then opened them visibly disturbed.

"The Robinsons must have been suffering from being put through that," Alexa Anne said, earning a head shake in return.

"This was _after_ them," Smith said.

"How did you get into that?" Alexa Anne asked.

"Stupid space kids," Smith said. "Wanted to pull a prank."

"What kind of prank?" Alexa Anne said.

"The kind that they have fun," Smith said. "It was in the final leg of the journey home." Alexa Anne was silent. "The Jupiter 2 was in darkness. They were making a mess of the residential deck while I was recovering in my quarters from a illness that made it difficult to see in the light," Smith stared off into oblivion. "I heard them. What they were doing. They made a mess out of the supplies throwing it around the room. All the while they avoided going into my room," Smith lowered his head, his eyelashes fluttering, with his eyes focused on the table. "They didn't realize there was someone resting inside of it. I may have taken on the character of a crazy old man a little too literal after hearing them going into the children's rooms with my laser pistol and went mad. I chased them out so they fired on me with their spaceship. I was about to use hyper drive when they started firing on the Jupiter 2. Fortunately for me, I was inside a spacesuit with newly installed window visor to protect my eyes. The illness made it difficult to see in the light."

"So even if they had disabled your ship and thoroughly left in ruins," Alexa Anne said. "you would be floating in space on limited oxygen waiting for the passer by to rescue you and your ship."

"Then get back to my ship and resume my journey," Smith added. "That was my immediate plan during the attack."

"And that's what you did," Alexa Anne said.

"I was picked up," Smith said. "By the wrong people."

"By who?" Alexa Anne said, earning a shrug as though he didn't know who they were anymore.

"This civilization made shackles between wrists and ankles made of bone covered in skin that generated after a sample," Smith said. "my cell was very unique. They had cells for everyone. Some were more cruel. Some were more lenient. Some were _merely kind._ " Smith sighed. "I don't like to talk about what happened in there but it was one of the most terrifying experiences I had in space."

He placed his hands on to the table where she finally noticed how wrong they looked for fingers that were bent in ways that were not meant to be with scars covering the top with small rounded protrusions in series of two between his fingers on the sides. He was silent lost in thought going over the events. His hands told the story. He had to make sacrifices to get out. The horror sunk in as she looked up toward the elderly man wondering how he could move such damaged fingers. His fingers tapped on the table in a heavy, hollow way that were in a series of threes. Echoing over and over like a judge striking their gavel to regain order in the court room.

"I am the only one who has seen your fingers," Alexa Anne said.

"Yes," Smith said.

"Why didn't you get them fixed?" Alexa Anne said.

"They are a reminder of how hard I fought to bring the Jupiter 2 back to Earth," Smith said. "my battle scars you can say, madame," he placed his hands into his lap leaning back from the table. "And I am proud of it. Bringing something that belonged to the Robinsons back to Earth. Earth needed the closure more than I did," he placed his hands on the back of his head leaning back. "I talked about what happened at great length with Air Force approved therapists before my trial and sought heavy therapy to help me cope with being in the dark."

"It wasn't enough," Alexa Anne deduced.

"It _was_ enough," Smith then changed his tone with a sad, bitter smile. "For being on Earth." He looked down toward his hands. "I can still hear the warm hum of the ship, the floor vibrating beneath my feet, and the cold. . . cold. . . Cold room." he closed his eyes placing his hands into his lap with a sigh. "The wind from the vents blowing against my back. I can still remember the unwanted company I had in the room. I can still hear them when I go into a dark room and close my eyes. I can still remember all that happened just to bring me down to the Jupiter, have emergency medical treatment on my hands, perform emergency repairs to the Jupiter 2, experience a betrayal, get out of their mess, and head back to Earth."

"Did these events coincide?" Alexa Anne said.

"One after the other," Smith said. "My fellow survivor was a healer but terrible at putting human parts together. Didn't know what he was doing."

"That is grounds for a lawsuit," Alexa Anne said.

"Why should I?" Smith asked. "I am never in pain."

"You _should_ be," Alexa Anne said, then stood up. "I will return to my recharge unit."

"See you later," Smith said, then softly added. "Alexa."

Alexa Anne turned toward Smith then walked on. Smith came toward the panel and carefully inputted a command that made a disco ball gently come down the enter of his room. He looked on toward the image then picked up his prison outfit holding onto the side of his nightie and made his way out of the room.

_"I thought you said Hymin," the albino alien said._

_"I . . ." Smith started. "said. Human. Rogers."_

_"Sorry," Rogers apologized. "Want me to fix it?"_

_"No." Smith said, flatly._

_"I can actually fix it!" Rogers said, tagging after Smith toward the elevator. "Hands are designed like mine, right?"_

_"You've done_ enough _," Smith turned in the direction of the younger man with a flash of anger in his voice as he held up his horribly gone wrong fingers.  
_

* * *

Alexa Anne's eyes opened. She lifted the recharge hub from above her head that twitched and a wide, big smile appeared on her face with the corners of her lips twisting up ungodly and unnatural for a human being. She stepped out of her recharge station. A line of code appeared in a gentle blue hue on her eyes sizzling and disappearing from her eyes. She walked out of the lab with her fingers twitching moving down the hall until she came to a large doorway. The doors opened before the woman to reveal a massive library that had only one nightlight on beside a resting figure. There were lots of benches, colorful couches, tables with chairs, and large bean bags that someone could sit down and read decorating the floor. Smith was snoring away with a book on his chest and his hands clasped together on the spine.

She gently picked up the elderly man into her arms making the book landing to the floor with a hard thud. She made her way out of the library, down the hall, and entered into a another room as the convict stirred in his sleep shifting toward his right with a snore. She came to a stop in front of the pool as her head twitched with a unnatural grin. With one sweep, she tossed the elderly man into the pool earning a large splash. Smith swam up to the surface with a startled scream and gasped for air. He swam toward the stairs where he dragged himself up visibly trembling. He fell to his side then flipped over to his side watching Alexa Anne walk out of the room as sparks erupted from her neckline. Smith flopped on to his chest then moved over toward the rail supporting himself up.

He slipped off his black v-neck including the orange turtle neck moving down the corridor contemplating what could be wrong. He stopped, observing the doors opening and closing behind him. It dawned on Smith. Smith closed his eyes then took off his socks making his way to the laundry room. He took off his briefs, last, taking the nearest towel then moved over to a black screen with a keyboard placed inside a thick, wide slot. He placed on a pink, long robe retrieving it from a coat hangar and sat by the rumbling laundry machine. The laundry machine was more alien to him than anything similar to the one he used day and day out on the Jupiter 2. It was white with a black circular window with a even smaller circular glass at the center which above that had a touch screen that was circular and light blue that read 'ALPHA CENTAURI'. A single press of a button turned it on with options that ranged from normal, speed wash, heavy duty, wool, perm press, auto wash, with a side ways triangle at the bottom and two buttons that were smaller on the top. The detergent was quite handy to use.

What kind of ship wide glitch was occurring? Did he need to be alarmed? Was it getting worse enough to be concerned about? Given what she had just done, it was in the category of concern. It had been eleven months since he had been awake on this voyage getting adjusted to the combined washer and dryer machine, befriending the android, and it seemed to be edging him closer to updating his outdated skills. Smith looked down toward his twisted improperly placed twisted long, aged fingers around his hand. He looked back at his memories rubbing his chin going over the smallest of abnormalities when she had helped him on occasions. All the small glitches began to come forward: standing still with eyes closed as though in recharge, her hands twitching, claiming to be hearing voices, claiming that someone was meddling with her programming, abruptly letting go while Smith was vacuuming his quarters instead of letting a 'Roomba' do the hard work for him (what a Roomba was, Smith had no idea) and allowing the bed to crash on the two of them-

_The scene showed the bed crash land on the two sending them crashing to the floor with a yelp from Smith and silence from the android. Smith rubbed the back of his head feeling the inkling of blood. He looked over in the direction of the light from ahead that calmed down considerably and made him regain control over his emotional being. Safesafesafesafesafesafesafesafesafe-was he truly safe? The camera backed out of the bed to reveal Alexa Anne's feet poking out from underneath the bed beside Smith's short legs as their upper halves were blocked by the bed. The vacuum was silent from the unexpected crash and was self-regenerating itself in the middle of reboot.  
_

_"Alexa. . . " Smith said._

_"Yes?" Alexa Anne replied._

_"Why are we under the bed?" Smith asked.  
_

_There was a long pause between them._

_"I do not know," Alexa Anne said._

_Smith had a irritated sigh._

_"Yes, you do," Smith said._

_"No, I don't," Alexa Anne said._

_"You dropped the bed on me," Smith said, sharply._

_There was another pause between them._

_"It seems I did," Alexa Anne said. "I have no memory of doing that."_

Later becoming paranoid enough to blame him for all the problems. It made sense. Like the ship, Alexa Anne was full of glitches. He looked down toward his hands feeling reluctant to attempt fixing her bug. The bug had to be centered in her subroutine protocols that hadn't been seen and left as 'that is good enough' by the programmers or they had mistakeningly believed they had cleaned up the mess in the neural net after doing one too many Alexa Annes. A considerably small mistake. The machine beeped drawing Smith out of his train of thought. He slid out his civvies and tossed in the towel into the container starting the cycle again.

He combed his disheveled hair back into position then felt along the beard that had grown since his return to space. His beard was well trimmed and cared for but it reeked of sorrow, bitterness, and despair rather than a beard that proudly showed his age. A beep came as he expected and he folded it then moved it back on to the compartment where he watched it be slid into the back. Smith put on his prison outfit on then came toward the door with a renewed sense of resolve. Yes, he was going to try solving the problem. Yes, he was going make any future incidents for himself and Alexa Anne that did not go the way they wanted did not turn out that way.

Smith came to a stop at the lab where the android rested. He walked around her model, tapping his fingers together, staring at her model observing the best place to peel away a hidden compartment. He came to a stop from behind her then brought over a stool and walked up it. He tapped on the back of her deck then watched a large section of skin retract away. He stared at the touch screen staring back at him that lacked any buttons with numbers or arrow keys. He tapped on his lips at a loss. He tapped on a gear option with his fingernail. Nothing happened at tapping on it. He placed the pad of his finger on the screen to reach settings.

This was nothing like reprogramming the Robot all those years ago. Nothing like the technology that he hacked in within outer space without the Robinsons knowledge to begin his escape. His preferred method of hacking was gone. Smith weighed his options then came down the stool then searched the cabinets for a manual on how to hack. He gently closed the door, rolling his eyes. They couldn't be that stupid unless it were for purposes of debugging then it would be a option. He found the hardback book with the text 'How to care for your Environmental Android' and closed the drawer. It was a thick, heavy book. He flipped through the pages to see diagrams that were in simple 'how to do' with text underneath that said 'Please go on to Alpha Control At Youtube to search for videos'.

Smith furrowed his eyebrows.

"You Tube?" Smith said, flipping through the pages. "What is a You Tube?"

Smith shook his head looking through the heavy book until he stopped at a page that read in bolt print: **PROGRAMMING, DEBUGGING, AND DEPROGRAMMING.**

"Ah ha," Smith said. He came over to the nearby chair where he sat down in scanning the text. He grew puzzled looks as his eyes changed in width slowly nodding his head. He placed the novel onto the counter making his way up to the stool and closed the intricate skin section, removed the stool, then walked right in front of her. "Alexa Anne."

Alexa Anne's eyes opened.

"Operating and functioning for duty," Alexa Anne said.

"Alexa," Smith said. "You have a problem."

"I am quite aware," Alexa Anne said.

"Run a disk clean up," Smith said.

"I do not need to," Alexa Anne said. "My disks are in operating order. It is my programming that is at fault."

"Run a disk clean up," Smith repeated, raising his voice giving a harsh glare. "I do not need a repeat of being thrown into a pool."

Alexa Anne grew alarmed then closed her eyes lowering her head down and the neon lights above her glowed a familiar, friendly red. Smith resumed reading the novel while waiting. He left and returned and left and returned every so often that it seemed it was taking a considerable long time for the clean up to be done. Alexa Anne's shoulders relaxed, lowered, and her hands relaxed from her palms. She looked around then walked on out of the room. She walked down the corridor detecting a scent carrying down the hall. If she had to pinpoint it, it smelled like he was making himself some stew. She entered the kitchen to find him humming to himself without much of a melody but it sounded broken and bitter similar to how someone who hadn't sang in a long time had gotten worse at it. The automatic door remained open so she entered the room coming to a stop behind him then placed a hand on the top of his shoulder. Smith whirred toward Alexa Anne and grabbed her by the shoulder flipping the android over on to the floor.

"Smith," Alexa Anne said.

"Madame," Smith said, looking down on her with his hands placed on his hips. "How inconvenient is it to remember not to touch my shoulder?"

"It was not in my files," Alexa Anne said.

"I bet it was," Smith said, sarcastically then held out a hand and helped the android up to her feet.

"Is the touching your shoulder part of the incident where you were held captive?" Alexa Anne asked.

"No," Smith said. "It is a reflex from being back stabbed one too many times."

"Has that worked in your favor?" Alexa Anne asked.

"Many times, madame," Smith said, looking off distantly from the woman. "Many times. . ."

_The tip of a dagger stung in his back. Smith loudly gasped whirring toward the surprised assailant holding onto the long, elaborate designed energy dagger that was dripping with specks of blood. Then flipped them over to the ground with a hard thud. Smith screamed, running off crashing to the ground on a pile of boulders and stumbled up to his feet. Speeding off in the direction of the Jupiter 2 with the large picnic basket weighing against his side carrying harvested nutrients. He became a distant black and purple figure among the scenery. His attacker stood there stunned, momentarily, then fled after the man who was much closer to the Jupiter than they were._

_The scene panned over to Smith standing at the corner of a hall. He was eying passing uniformed men in a single file line with their feet hitting the ground in synchronization. One of them approached Smith from behind while carrying a phaser in one hand then pressed it against his back placing another hand on to his shoulder. Smith's eyes grew big then whirred around toward the man and flipped him over. Smith ripped out a phaser from his grip looking on ahead. The man from underneath him groaned so he fled on foot ducking into a open doorway and allowing the door to close behind him. His left sleeve had been torn off leaving his purple sleeve that ended at the shoulder quite exposed. He waited listening for the men and women to pass by him before he bolted out of the hall resuming his escape._

_The camera swept by the corner changing scenery this time to Smith's arms on two muscular bull themed alien's shoulders with his hands and feet wrapped in gauze while his head was hung down toward the floor. The gauze was covered in blood. Rogers was the leader of the group ordering them silently to press their backs against the wall. Smith's blue eyes weakly dripped open while set on the floor. His pockets were visibly stained. The sound of heavy footsteps drew his eyes open with a look of horror on them turning his attention from the wall in the direction of the oncoming guards. Rogers panicked then ran down the hall leaving the escapees behind. Smith's eyes closed while mumbling in what was a different language to the others._

_They nodded in agreement to his proposal then lifted lifted him up to his feet between them. They hooked their arms with his arms keeping him propped up without balance turning away from the approaching crowd and began to walk away. The remaining escapees fled as ordered by the remaining co-escapee leader beside Smith. He seemed to be light headed and headed toward uncertain doom. He straightened himself up giving them the nod with a aside glance. The security officers approached the men then one of them grabbed him by the shoulder. Smith flipped himself over acting as a pillar that swept the officers aside like a athlete knocking them down like bowling pins that sent others down from behind them. The muscular one carried Smith in her arms as they stampeded over the security officers headed toward freedom._

"Do you need help?" Alexa Anne asked.

Smith turned his attention back.

"Yes," Smith said. "We need to get rid of the glitches in the doors after dinner. There is no manual for that."

"You are in luck," Alexa Anne said. "I _am_ the manual. I will get right on it." She turned away and walked off.

Smith watched the android walk away then looked down toward his steaming dinner. The steam rose and spread after a golden glow. Watson came out of the cryostasis pod rubbing the bridge of his nose then looked around noticing that he was the only one awake. The bridge was cloaked in darkness covered in a fine layer of dust on all the control. The lights kicked on a moment later from above the young man. Watson sighed, rolling a eye, his head lifted up toward the cieling and raised his arms up as though angry at a god.

"Ah come on," Watson said, irritated. "Now?"

Watson lowered his head then approached the large console.

"Let's see how the systems are doing," Watson said.

Watson tested each and every part of the ship hearing the soft beeps that reassured him everything was fine even working just the way he wanted them to. He dialed back on what he had started looking off from the console toward the resting officers and dogs in their cryostasis pods. Everything was fine. They were set to arrive in the next month to the fatal stop the Robinsons had taken. He had to check the prisoners pod to be very certain that everything was fine. He went down the deck on the elevator and came out after sliding aside a barrier on the pitch black hall then made his way toward the cryostasis pod only to find it was empty. There was no slip of paper to reveal why it was empty. The prisoner's pod had malfunctioned. Alarms were going off in his mind only seeing red. He ran down the hall to find the recharging android.

"Alexa Anne," Watson said.

Alexa Anne's eyes opened.

"Operating and functioning for duty," Alexa Anne said.

"I am going to ask you once," Watson said. "Where is Zachary?"

"I do not know a Zachary," Alexa Anne said.

"Zachary Smith," Watson said.

"Smith is resting in his quarters," Alexa Anne said. "He has been out for eleven months, four days, twenty hours, forty minutes, and eight seconds."

"Zachary should have been put into his cryostasis pod," Watson said. "This is _mutiny_."

"Putting him in?" Alexa Anne asked, taken back.

"Not putting him back in earlier," Watson said.

Alexa Anne appeared to be insulted.

"Cryostasis pod needs to be readjusted," Alexa Anne said. "I was locked out of command."

"Ah, right," Watson said. "I'll fix that. Sorry."

"Rule are made to be followed," Alexa Anne said. "Your anger was justified. You are forgiven."

"After I fix it, take him into his prison pod when he is awake," Watson said.

"Yes, sir," Alexa Anne said, nodding her head.

"What else has he done?" Watson asked.

"Gardening, reading, make food, eating, sleeping, performing laundry," Alexa Anne said. "I am not sure about the waste department-"

"I get the point," Watson said. "We don't need him eating our rations."

"He has been eating food that he has been making himself plucking them from 'hydroponics'," Alexa Anne said.

"Your primary mission is to get him into that pod," Watson said. "The next time he asks for help. And if he doesn't do as you ask, make him. Do anything that needs to be done. Go against your programming to make sure it is done by twenty-four hours." his glare was more striking than Smith's that made her perform the reprogramming as ordered. "If there has to be a conflict then you have my permission to engage in it. We can find the bodies either way."

"Then why take him?" Alexa Anne asked.

"It's the only way Alpha Control would let me do the retrieval to bring the Robinsons home," Watson said. "You are under my command, my command only, you're not a explorer but a soldier."

"Yes, sir," Alexa Anne said. "Changes have been completed."

"Alexa Anne, sleep," Watson said, then watched her eyes closed and walked off with his hands in fists making his way toward the cryostasis pods. "He will listen to her."

* * *

The camera swept down into the Jupiter 2030 heading below the navigation bubble through the hull into a artificial simulated environment sides to the plant and soil. There was large blue screens displaying blue with plenty of bugs flying around in the air from below the artificial light in the shape of the sun. Smith was knelt down on his knees placing weeds into a bucket wearing gloves that were specified to his hands while in-distinctively humming. Lost in thought and distracted, he didn't notice how Alexa Anne was approaching him in a intimidating manner. Only until the hair on his skin went up, a heavy dread set into his stomach, and the terror on turning around struck him did it hit that someone terrifying was heading his way. Smith turned in the woman's direction to see a all-too-familiar look of cold intent on her face that drew his alarm.

"You will be placed into the prison pod," Alexa Anne said.

"Alexa," Smith said. "My pod can only let me be inside for eight hours."

"Prison pod has been been readjusted," Alexa Anne stated, earning a surprised look from Smith.

Smith struggled to stand up.

"You don't sound yourself," Smith looked up in concern. "This must be a glitch. Do a disk clean up."

"No," Alexa Anne said. "Commands of Major Watson," Smith fell over to his side with nothing to help him up. "Get up."

" _Trying_ ," Smith replied, annoyed looking up toward her and held a hand out for her. "I need a hand."

Alexa Anne reached out grabbing on to his wrist in a way that resulted in unnecessarily bone crushing.

Smith grabbed on to her arm as the pain became part of the background twisting his wrist out of her grasp and yanking his arm out quickly then swung himself on to her back. He tapped on the neck as the android tried to shake him off. Smith had a tight grip onto her waist. He was flung off her figure with one swing sending him rolling down the grassy plain. He used his left hand to prop himself up watching her approach him. Smith grabbed on to a long stick watching three unusual critters similar to bats with big eyes, pointy ears, golden scales, green hair, and a baby dragon like head. They hopped away from the bewildered elderly man.

Alexa Anne grabbed a hold on to the man's figure then slipped him over her shoulders clenching tightly on to his knee. Smith struck her back, repeatedly, being unable to say a word initially from the pain coming from his legs with his hands balled up into fists.

"Alexa, let go!" Smith plead. "You're hurting my knees! Loosen your grip, _please_!"

Smith looked off toward the panel that was still up from the side of her neck as she walked toward the elevator.

"No," Alexa Anne replied.

Smith swung himself forward then tapped at random on different options set before him.

"Then power down," Smith said.

Alexa Anne collapsed to the ground. Smith struggled to kneel down to her side with the ache of his knees protesting against it as they had many times before. She was struggling to move. Her fingers reaching out for support to help her up. Her eyes glancing in all directions. His fingers lightly tapped on the armor until a compartment raise up before his eyes where he found the familiar box underneath the armor on her waist. The power pack, it had to be, but it orange and gray rather than baby blue and light gray with screws seen on the front. She stopped moving becoming completely still. He dropped the power pack to the side right across from the android.

Smith sighed, lowering his head down.

With the move of his pinkie, a hot searing flash of pain made itself known.

"Ah!" Smith yelped, raising his head up.

Smith grabbed on to his wrist, squeezing his eyes close, cradling the broken wrist against his chest observing the swelling beginning to appear. He made his way to the elevator then pressed on to the down arrow and slid down to the bottom of the elevator keeping his unharmed hand up on the rail. He closed his eyes then reached himself forward breaking through the electricity drilling through his head while hiking himself up using his arm as his support then slapped on the down button and fell to the corner of the elevator with a pant.

The scene drifted up to the hydroponics deck surging past the short blades of grass sweeping over to the motionless figure. It flew over to her neck that displayed 'SOLAR BATTERY charging'. Her eyes moved from side to side in wonder addressing her problem. Her power pack was left on the ground beside her. Emergency power indicated it would take over thirteen hours to be fully charged. Her mission had to be fulfilled as given by her superior officer Major Watson. Hours ticked by within the hydroponics. Her energy bar went up and up until it had reached the maximum required space.

She had enough energy stored within her to operate a hour without the power pack. She lifted herself up from the ground detecting a lifeform standing from across her holding on to a meat cleaver with his unharmed hand while his other hand was cradled against his chest. There was a look of intent on the man's face as he held on to a defensive posture. He stood from alongside the elevator dressed in only his bell bottom themed pants and short sleeve orange prison shirt. From the palm of his hand could easily be seen a slick black wrist sprint that wrapped around his thumb. She picked up the power pack and gently placed her finger on the open slot making it close on the vulnerable section. The outcome had been pr-determined when the fight had begun. She walked toward the elderly man's direction.

Smith swung the cleaver into her chest leaving a fine long cut into her chest plating then wore a heart broken expression.

Alexa Anne stared down toward the exposed cables inside her chest that were sparking.

"Resistance is futile, Zachary Smith," Alexa Anne said, yanking out the meat cleaver where she tossed it aside.

Smith staggered back, his eyes searching for items to use as self defense.

"Alexa, I know you're in there," Smith said. "I am not going back in there when it can malfunction!"

"You will be returned to your prison pod," Alexa Anne said. "Resistance is futile."

"To you, it is," Smith said, picking up a stick with a sharpened edge and jabbed it into the android's chest where sparks erupted.

"Futile," Alexa Anne said, tossing aside the stick.

She yanked Smith from the tree and dragged him by the elbow.

There was a loud pop from the elderly man's arm.

Smith screamed, loudly, painfully. Alexa Anne stopped forcing him into the elevator as he howled in pain. The arm that she had dislocated was the very same one that she had crushed the wrist. She went inside of the elevator then pressed on the down button and linked her arms behind her back, stoically over the sounds of his screams. She saw a orange figure pass over the bars, roll and stumble, and stop beside the hatch door. She slid the bar aside slowly approaching him as he put his back against the wall using his unharmed hand to grab out a bulky, dark gray laser pistol outlined in orange. He steadied himself with his elbow against the doorway as though being rocketed by pain coursing through his body. Electricity surged from his fingers into the laser pistol. The doors from behind him whished open. He stepped back with a visible tremble.

"I am not afraid to fire," Smith said, intent-fully with pleading eyes back toward her. "Don't make me."

Alexa Anne stepped forward so he took a step back placing his back against the secondary door.

"You are attempting at making a escape," Alexa Anne said. "That is not allowed."

"You grabbed me by the elbow," Smith said. He closed his eyes then reopened them as electricity was radiating off his back hitting the metal leaving behind visible electrical burns. "You're in there. I know you. You wouldn't let someone be harmed over being reprogrammed." Alexa Anne grabbed the trembling laser pistol making it become still as he stared back at her with scared eyes.

"You will be removed and placed into your prison pod," Alexa Anne said.

"Alexa," Smith said, as they switched positions. Smith let go of the phaser then reached his hand out pressing on to the side button alongside the hatch. The door closed between them as his eyes were brimming with tears. "I am sorry."

There was a surprised look on her face as he watched her be sucked out into space.

"Sorry. . ." Smith pressed on the secondary button sliding down, weeping. "Sorry. . . Sorry."

Smith placed his unharmed hand on to his face where he wept then something small fell into his hand. It was rounded and small. He could see the long, light blue tendrils that had unusual shapes and very thin for their width. He placed his fingers on to his forehead then lowered it down observing splotches of blood. The anti-bridge item had fallen out of his head forcibly. He moved his way past the cryostasis pods reading the lines of text indicating who rested in what. He came to a stop beside Madalyn's pod, fell against the side of Carly's pod, then used his shoulder to press in the button to Madalyn's and brought himself over to the astragator where collapsed falling unconscious. Two of the cryostasis pods turned gold then the fog disappeared and two women came stumbling out.

"That felt quick," Carly said.

"Oh my god!" Madalyn said, rushing toward the scene.

"Looks like he went through the ringer," Carly said, then looked down toward the sight of blood in his palm. "Uh, why does he have the anti-bridge in his hand?"

"Get the medical kit, Carly," Madalyn said. "Now."

"Yes, Doctor," Carly said, then got up to her feet and moved.

"How did you get up here?" Madalyn asked, checking for his pulse.

She ripped off a part of her sleeve then pressed the cloth against his forehead letting the blood bleed out steadily but beginning to slow down.

"I got it!" Carly replied, coming up the ladder with a medical kit.

"Get over here," Madalyn said, her fingers crazing the side of her face and she was jolted. "Ow."

"What do you suppose happened?" Carly said, opening the medical kit.

"His pod malfunctioned, obviously, which is a first," Madalyn said, grabbing a white square bouncy object and placing it against his wound. "Get me the gauze," Carly got out the gauze. "And wrap it around his head tightly as you can."

The gauze was wrapped around his head ever so tightly until Madalyn cut at it with scissors.

"Think he will make it?" Carly asked.

"He is under right now," Madalyn said. "He will need rest, pain medication, a clean up on his head, and treatment to seal up the wound once it has stopped bleeding. Right now, we have to get him to sick bay," she gestured Carly over to his side. "On the count of three. . ." they placed his shoulders on their shoulders. "One. . two. . three-"

"Ah!" Smith screamed, high pitch, painfully.

"What's wrong?" Madalyn said.

"Dis . . . loca. . . ted shoulder," Smith replied, dropping the device to the floor as the women brought him to the elevator.

* * *

The small group were gathered at the table where they watched the tape conclude. Hamall stood up then walked away with his hands in fists walking off his anger. Sanchisko sat there at the table still in shock. Wyrt, Kenanan, and Bobellis had equal looks of disgust. Carly had her arms folded looking down toward the table. Watson was still in cryostasis. Madalyn came to the center of the long conference table. There was the back drop of space from behind them. No one knew what to say about the situation that they had.

"We have to turn this ship around and go back to Earth," Madalyn said.

"Doctor," Hamall said, pinching his forehead coming to a stop by the windows. "We can't go back empty handed."

"When it comes to a officer directly ordering a old man to be mistreated," Wyrt said. "We can make a exception."

"Retrieving the Robinsons's corpses has been the only thing that he has talked about off duty," Hamall said, lowering his hand down looking toward the group. "That will make him less cooperative with the Military Police."

"We are not going to ask for a court martial," Madalyn said. "We just want a different retrieval team on this mission who isn't so _connected_ to this mission that they ask a android to handle a criminal into their prison pod," she looked toward Bobellis. "You can pilot us back home."

"You want me to pilot this ship in hyper drive and send this old man directly into the hands of people who will now want to look at his hands?" Bobellis asked. "No," he shook his hands. "No one has noticed so far those hands so no one should. If they did, what kind of hell would we be making for him?"

The group shared glances reconsidering their positions on the matter.

Bobellis leaned back into the chair folding his arms.

"Sure," Bobelis continued. "he _is_ a criminal."

The group nodded in agreement.

"But. . ." Bobellis started. "I am pretty sure he has gone through enough after being out of his pod for a year." he leaned forward placing his arms on the edge of the table. "He doesn't seem to be in pain." Bobellis pointed his index finger toward the screen. "I get the feeling that if they try to reconstruct his fingers then they will make him be _in_ pain."

Grimaces appeared on the officer's faces exchanging glances with each other.

"How can you be so sure of that?" Madalyn said. "You're not a doctor. He won't be in pain after the surgery."

"It's a gut feeling, doc," Bobellis said.

"Gut feeling my ass," Madalyn said. "You know something."

"The way he moves his fingers," Bobellis said. "It's like. . ." he shook his head. "It's human then it's not."

"You mean to say that his spine isn't human," Madalyn said.

"I don't know what I am saying," Bobellis said. "It is the way his hands were fixed."

"Fixed," Madalyn said, glaring a hole through Bobellis's chest.

"I am no scientist," Bobellis said. "He has been living with those hands for so long that if they are surgically corrected then everything would be out of whack. Bones set at the wrong parts. New bones removed." he shook his hand. "I know you're going to say that pain killers would take away that pain but it would go beyond internal pain but psychological, you know, he hasn't used human typical hands for thirty-one years and he would need rigorous therapy for that. Would the prison cover that?" he scanned the group one by one. "Are any of you willing to cover that? You have to be part of it because the united states space corps and air force won't lay a dollar on him."

There was silence.

"It's a big iffy when we return to Earth with him," Bobellis said.

"Do we have the right to point out his hands to Doctor Weaver and let her take care of it instead of the prison taking the long route to approve of it?" Sanchisko asked, carrying on the thought.

The group pondered the question rather deeply.

"Hand surgery is what the prison won't cover unless it got in the way of his incarceration," Bobellis said, then nodded toward Sanchisko.

"Do we have the right to change his life?" Sanchisko asked. "Can we speak for him? Can we make decisions for him? This is not our place. This is a decision that his family and himself would have to make. He doesn't have any family on Earth." Silence was in the room as they listened to him intently. "Is this a moral and ethical decision that strangers can make?" he shook his head. "It's _his_ hands, _his_ decision. He must have a say in it. What gives us the right to do this without discussing this subject with him?"

Hamall nodded, then sighed.

"And Ryan?" Hamall asked.

"We shouldn't show them the footage but deal with Major Watson our way rather than the military way," Bobellis said. "My opinion," he shrugged. "Our way is by giving him a bad rep back on Earth on his performance during the mission. Hurts him professionally."

There was silence in the conference room that absorbed in the information.

"What is wrong with his hands?" Wyrt asked, leaning against the table with a raised eyebrow.

Bobellis wore a look of disbelief raising a brow.

"Were you not paying attention to the screen?" Bobellis asked.

"We weren't paying attention to his hands," Sanchisko said, softly. "We didn't need to," the man got up from the chair then walked toward the set up square tv. "No one has." he came to a stop beside the screen then gestured toward it. "His face and wrist is all everyone looks at when it comes to him." he earned nods. "No one will pay attention to his fingers but to what the android is doing right here. The only one in this ship who is required to face a court martial would be the criminal, if he were still in the air force, for loss of property. Legally, Ryan has not committed a crime but the prisoner in transport has."

"And this time we have evidence," Hamall said, gesturing toward the bagged cleaver and over to the big compact screen. "Not a journal."

"Seeing as how he is serving a life sentence, I vote we delete the evidence," Kenanan said. "Put the meat cleaver away. Make sure he heals on his own while we are in stasis, turn the residential deck into a prison deck, and forget about this episode.:" Madalyn wore a horrified expression on her face at hearing this come from her colleague. She didn't know what to say. "That Alexa Anne was planned to be removed after our return, anyway, even if the criminal tried to tell what happened, I am pretty sure no one will believe him."

There was a uncomfortable silence in the room.

"What?" Kenanan asked.

"No evidence to back him up, just a missing android," Bobellis said, clasping his hands together. "I don't know what to think about that."

"It feels eerie," Carly said. "Thirty-second anniversary being spent like that?"

"No one believing him when he is telling the truth," Wyrt said. "That is depressing to think about."

"That would be soul crushing," Hamall said.

Sanchisko remained silent back in his seat.

"Unlike this situation, Doctor Smith killed people," Kenanan said. "The jury found him guilty."

"What if he wasn't?" Madalyn asked. "Everyone saw the bio show, right?"

"Everyone in here has," Hamall said, with slow nods in agreement.

Wyrt rolled his eyes.

"We are not a jury at his retrial," Wyrt said. "That is not our place to decide on."

"Much as we like to debate about it," Carly agreed.

"Whatever the truth is. . . ." Hamall had a sigh. "We will never know. That is the difference between this and that situation; we know, we have seen it, and we can forget about it," he looked toward doctor shaking her head. "We have to remove the cameras. United States Space Corps has been meaning to do that for a long time."

Hamall had his eyes on the doctor.

"Anything else need to be addressed in this emergency meeting?" Hamall asked.

"No," Madalyn said.

"We will delete all video records and save the tape for better purposes as suggested by Kenanan," Hamall said, then stood up. "This meeting is adjoined." He faced the doctor as the group began to depart from the conference room going through the doorway leading into the bridge. "He must be cuffed until we get into stasis and put that anti-bridge shocker back into his head. It's illegal to have it out."

"I did the operation before we woke up everyone, Captain," Madalyn said. "He is in his quarters resting. He can heal on his own."

Kenanan glanced from Madalyn to Hamall as though they had grown two heads.

"I suggested a prison deck with the thought in mind that he be watched over," Kenanan said. "I didn't mean to leave him alone."

"Your concerns are warranted, Lieutenant," Hamall said. "But he is in no position to require a eye on him."

"The last time we had a prisoner who could not feel pain got out of their cryostasis pod and killed the new kid," Kenanan said. "Given what he did on the screen and how he accomplished it . . . . he might be capable of doing that."

"I am sure he won't," Madalyn said. "He was doing it out of his best interests."

"Best interests might have changed," Kenanan argued.

"His pod malfunctions according to the logs," Madalyn said. "And if he had called for help after being awakened from it a third time, he might have been hurt worse than the first time. A very one sided, unfair beating that could break some bones-"

"Now that would be prosecutable," Hamall said. "That is elder abuse," he looked over toward Kenanan. "Must you always be this nosy?"

"It's how I keep my job," Kenanan said, with a smile then walked off.

Hamall sighed, shaking his head.

"Can't record that this meeting happened?" Madalyn asked. "Otherwise, this is a cover up."

"It's not a cover up," Hamall said. "It's forgiveness. Look at it that way."

"I am not sure that Mr Smith will see it that way," Madalyn said, then walked off in the direction of the doors.

Hamall picked up a slinkie from the table then tossed it against the wall where it bounced back at him and hit him at the face.

"Ow!" Hamall yelped.

* * *

Madalyn looked down in pity toward the resting doctor wearing a large band-aid on the side of his head. She had lied. She didn't put the anti-bridge shocker back into his head. She looked down toward the device in her hand. She slipped it into her pocket and covered it up. She wasn't going to make his time on the Jupiter 2030 more miserable than it was. Being alone was the worst thing in the world. He had been alone for eleven months asides to having a android acting as his friend. She stepped out of the doorway then removed the lock on it and made her way toward the elevator. She pressed the up button and linked her hands behind her back once sliding the barrier in front of her. She was certain that she had made the right decision.

The elevator came to a stop then she slid the barrier aside and walked on toward her pod. Everyone was back in their pods fast asleep. She couldn't help but feel internal disgust when looking at Watson's pod. She walked into the stasis pod then pressed on the side and her hands placed to her side. At what felt like a moment later, she came out of the pod joining the other members of the crew. She looked on toward Watson who was stretching his arms. Everything felt completely normal to the mission but she couldn't help but feel that she had to break her association to him once they got back to Earth taking on a different career path that wasn't going to be in space.

World War 3 was currently brewing and they needed all the doctors they could get putting the soldiers back on their feet to defeat the Eastern Coalition. It was a shame that most of the great doctors were currently behind bars unable to provide aid due to their hands in genetic meddling. The elevator brought her down as she was smiling from ear to ear then came to the door where Smith was supposed to be. Only to find it was locked. The computer indicated there were no lifeforms inside of it or a body. She moved to the next door and the next and the next finding that they were all the same until she went to the library where she heard a faint snoring coming from inside. She left and returned with the cuffs that were located in the android lab. He was in his prison outfit that was smelled well like it had been cleaned a few hours ago. The wound from his forehead had healed away leaving behind a faint small, circular shape where the bump used to be. The doors closed behind the woman.

"Wake up, Mr Smith," Madalyn said, placing a hand on his shoulder very gently.

Smith woke up with a startle then stood up and flipped her over.

"Good morning," Madalyn said.

Smith covered his mouth looking over.

"Oh dear," Smith said. "I did not mean to do that."

Madalyn laughed, propping herself up.

"It's alright," Madalyn said, then was helped up by the doctor.

"Have we finally gotten there?" Smith asked.

"Yes," Madalyn said, noticing that he had red eyes. "You have been crying."

"Who cries for the Robinsons when so close to their resting place?" Smith asked, his eyes gazing down toward her hands then looked up toward her. "Might I get myself in order?"

It was then she noticed that his beard had out grown, there was a bad smell coming from as though he hadn't showered in a very long time when his face looked clean to her. She could feel anger crashing through her walls and murder what little of respect that she had for Watson. She was tempted to take him by the hands and clasp them, tightly, to reassure him that everything was going to be fine. It was going to be okay from there. What she did was nod and held her hand out for him. It was then that the horrifying sight of his hands became crystal clear to her watching the long, curved twisted fingers wrap around her palm that seemed unnatural. His fingernails were clean. His hair was longer than the last time that she had seen it. She looked over noticing a stench. Her eyes caught sight of a single bucket.

She marched out of the library taking him in hand then looked over noticing that there was a collection of bean bags in the make shift shape of a bed and a lamp laid beside it. She was barely able to control herself as she made it to the last door then furiously typed in her authorization code and allowed him in. She placed her back against the wall and fought back tears at what she had seen. Hamall approached the woman who had her back slunk down to the wall and her head tilted up.

"What's wrong, Doctor?" Hamall asked.

She looked toward Hamall.

"Watson," Madalyn said.

"What about him?" Hamall said.

"I . . ." she couldn't start. "I . . ." she shook her head and he knelt down to her level. "Check the library."

A few minutes later, Hamall returned and sat down beside her.

"I took care of it," Hamall said.

"Are you going to send a message to Alpha Control?" Madalyn asked.

"As the pilot, I have to," Hamall said. "My god. My god." he closed his eyes then opened them turning his head toward Madalyn. "I will get the dogs," he placed a hand on her shoulder. "We should have turned around."

"Now you admit I am right," Madalyn said.

"I am always slow when it comes to that," Hamall said. "I am sorry. I should have listened to you."

Hamall patted on her shoulder then got up to his feet moving away from the woman.

The scene panned over into the restroom where Smith was in front of the the mirror where the electric razor lay on the sink with a small comb and scissors. His prison outfit lay on the top of a toilet. Around his fingers were burn scars that contrasted against his skin that seemed to be more of a sore which couldn't be popped spreading toward his fingers that had the qualities of having been burned badly but changed to a certain alien degree. He rubbed the palm of his hands letting releasing a sigh letting go of the palms. He could see the young-had he ever been young?- No, middle aged _happy_ Doctor Smith from before the temple staring back only with miserable, lonely eyes that didn't belong. He could see the points at where the middle aged man ended and the elderly man had begun. Smith slowly reached his hand out for the electric razor. His hand visibly trembling. He pressed on a soft blue button and started with his over grown beard. The buzz was kind to his ears as part of his beard fell into the sink where it was washed away automatically into a system that separated it from the water and into a bag. Clipping away at the silver hair until the very elderly Zachary Smith stood from the other side of the mirror. He stepped into the large machine that was glowing a gentle purple from around him within reflecting against the panel glass with his eyes closed leaning forward with his forehead on the wall ahead of him.

The camera moved toward his back where faint scars from previous attacks were seen along his shoulder blades and moved over to his chest to display scars from his time as hostage given away by Stargate command. Bite marks decorating his upper torso most notably the shoulder blades. His arms were covered in old, faded scars that ranged from being hurt by animals, tools, and weapons as the filth vibrated off his figure. He leaned up then moved out of the sonic shower with his feet meeting the warm, dry rug lacking water on his skin. The camera shifted toward his legs to reveal that they too were not spared of what he had gone through in torture. Scars that had long healed but still remained on his skin. The camera returned up to reveal Smith had a resigned demeanor with a lowered head and quietly got dressed. His heart felt heavy at the knowledge of being forced to return. Truth be told, Smith was in acceptance mode while Major Watson was still in bargaining. A position that forced the elderly man back into space. A place that brought up old feelings about thirty-one years ago on Robinsons Paradise. The mere thought of the name made him close his eyes, painfully.

He was feeling rather scared about going back _there_.

What if the bubbles in the wall had spread to the ground and were in hiding waiting to finish what they had started?

What if he was going to be next?

He sat on the toilet slipping out the well cared for pocket watch holding it into his hands clicking it open.

The sight of the Robinson with smiles brought him back down to the planet with reassurance.

_It's going to get better. It's going to get better than this. It's going to be okay._

Smith clicked it close and slid the silver pocket watch into his pocket. Using the rail as support, the elderly man stood up from the toilet beginning to make his way out of the bathroom. The bathroom door closed behind him. The air felt heavy around him with weighted down shoulders and boots that trudged through mud. The door to his quarters opened before him and he walked out slowly. Madalyn stood up to her feet coming to his side then gently cuffed him as his hands were clasped together. The cuffs fastened to his healed wrist with a click. She was in her field uniform that was black and silver complete with a thick backpack that had silver straps on her shoulders that complimented her dark skin quite well.

"You don't look ready to go on a long walk," Madalyn said.

"It's been a _very_ long time since I have been there," Smith said. "Last time. . . Last time. . ." He closed his eyes, shaking his head, then reopened his eyes turning his attention on to the young woman. "I came back _alone_." he had a sigh. "But this time, I won't come back alone." he had a half-smile at the idea. He had a resigned, yet accepted gaze over the subject. The elderly man briefly looked off toward the floor looking back rather fondly at a memory.

"You won't," Madalyn said, reassuringly.

Smith looked up toward the doctor.

"Going back there to the scene of tragedy. . ." he looked toward the hall. "The thought of going there is difficult. Difficult to see myself doing it. Surreal to be here, again. I am afraid. Very history will repeat itself and I will be alone, _again_ ," his shoulders slumped. "no one believing a word I say, being accused of murder, what is left of my character being attacked mercilessly and aggressively. And maybe, just maybe, not having it at all and being forced to carry out the rest of my sentence in a super max. That would be kind."

"No one is ever ready to face the scene of a tragedy," Madalyn said.

"If it came down to it then I would take the Jupiter to Alpha Centauri and let the warden eat cake," Smith said, earning a bemused look from the doctor.

"They're waiting for us at the hangar bay," Madalyn said.

"Why not go down the residential deck?" Smith asked.

"It's part of the rules to meet as a team in the hangar bay before we start a mission," Madalyn said.

She took him by the elbow and walked away from the doors.

"Alpha Control must have a cooperating eyewitness to the Jupiter fleeing from this planet after their demise," Smith said.

"You can say," Madalyn then added. "Sort of."

Smith looked toward the woman raising a eyebrow.

"Sort of?" Smith asked, confused

"Alpha Control still has the Jupiter 2's navigation system in lock up," Madalyn said. "The best people retraced all the routes taken with time stamps."

They went into the elevator then Madalyn slid the barrier in front of them and pressed the down button, The elevator came to the hangar bay with Madalyn and Smith side by side then the barrier was slide aside. Smith slowly walked toward the exit of the ship. The dogs were surrounding Hamall walking around his legs tying him up with rope as he was talking to Bobellis who wore a long look turning his gaze toward Watson who stood at the entrance with hands linked behind his back. Carly and Sanchisko were side by side walking down the entrance. Watson looked in the direction of Madalyn and Smith then walked down the platform ahead of them. Smith wore a saddened look on his face seeing the familiar scenery from ahead making his way toward the doorway.

The camera backed out watching the crew go down the platform becoming merely shadows that began to blend into the background that slowly turned to pitch black and the Chariot vanish from the scene. The darkness was broken by headlights piercing through the darkness with loud humming and the sound of wheels speeding against the ground. The Chariot came flying into the Jupiter 2030 with Watson in the drivers seat appearing to be irritated and very annoyed. There was a announcement spreading throughout the ship in a woman's voice: _Major Watson has boarded the Jupiter 2030. Jupiter is preparing for ascension._ The camera swirled into his view to show the Robot standing by a cargo box. Watson put the Chariot into park then opened the door and leaped out. He marched toward the Robot.

"Where is Zachary Smith?" Watson said.

"There is not a Zachary Smith here," The Robot said.

"And now he decides to go into the prison pod," Watson said. "I just have to make sure he has returned into it this time without any persuasion."

"This time?" The Robot asked, bobbing his head up.

"I sent the ship's designated environmental android to make sure he went returned to stasis," Watson said. "With his cooperation. I have to make sure that he has gone into his pod," The way that was said made the the nanobots inside the Robot crawl up the walls. "Last time it malfunctioned. He didn't go back inside while we were asleep."

The Robot's head bobbed up in alarm.

"Are you implying that he was the only one awake on the way here?" the Robot asked, lowering his head loudly watching the young man head toward the doorway.

Watson turned around.

"According to his pod," Watson said, pressing the up button. "He spent sixteen hours in there."

"How long have you known?" The Robot asked

"Since the beginning of this week," Watson said, the elevator rolled up on to the upper deck with his arms folded.

The Robot slid open the cargo box to reveal a trembling, lone whimpering Smith in the corner.

"But there _is_ a Doctor Smith here," The Robot said.

* * *

_Kaline made her way to the sea of reporters down the long corridor. Secret service walked behind the woman wearing stoic masks, sunglasses, and dark suits. They came to a stop then dissipated moving over to the edge of the corridor from both of her sides. She came in front of the large brown structure that had a microphone set on the top. On the surface was a black screen that had the symbol of the united nations that remained still in blue format. She wore a smile regarding all of the members of the press that had filled the room. Time and time she had came into this room to make speeches through out the year. Only this one wasn't going to be one of the long speeches among her presidency._

_"Hello," Kaline greeted the reporters. "We have made contact with the Jupiter 2030 one hour ago," she had hands on the edge of the wooden object in front of her. "And instead of being greeted with the retrieval team, we were greeted by the Robinsons."_

_Reporters looked up with loud gasps and the room fell into silence as phones were lowered down into their laps._

_"We made a mistake thirty years ago," Kaline said. "No one can give back Zachary Smith the time that was taken from him. What we can do is apologize for putting him aside and not listening to his story. We are sorry for all the wasted time, all the wasted energy, and the attacks to his name."_

_Members of the press were listening intently._

_"Yes, we were wrong."_

_Kaline nodded, apologetically._

_"Yes, we were biased."_

_Judge Rights was seated with his grandchildren watching the broadcast feeling a cold chill go down his spine._

_"Yes, we were angry."_

_Kaline scanned the members of the press._

_"Yes. . ." Kaline said. "we were outraged that he came back without them."_

_Kaline had a shamed look on her face that began to light up._

_"Yes," Kaline said. "We wanted him to pay."_

_There was silence in the room_

_"Yes," she had a short nod. "he has paid enough for sabotaging the Robot and his previous crimes."_

_Franklin was listening to the radio looking over in shock from what was coming out._

_"Yes, I have pardoned him," Kaline stood firm. "We can never apologize enough for how we treated him upon his return to Earth."_

_"Madam President," Brookes said, a reporter from CNN, asked. "How are you certain that it's the Robinsons? They have been dead for over thirty years and they have been cloned a lot according to the journal."_

_Kaline nodded, then made a gesture._

_"Hello," John appeared on the two screens with a wave with Maureen standing alongside him._

_There was a loud gasp that made John and Maureen share puzzled looks._

_"They're fine," Kaline said. "Just in shock, Doctor, Professor." She had a short nod. "Please repeat what you told us earlier."_

_"We left the Jupiter 2 to have a vacation," John started. "Instead we found a temple. Beside the entrance was a strange crystal that was partially covered by weeds. I placed my hand on to it then was burned. The temple started to tremble much to our alarm so we went in to get the children. Afterwards, we ran."_

_"But we were caught by the blasts," Maureen continued. "and fell."_

_"The rest is history," John said, then he added half-heartedly. "Literally."_

_"Any questions?" Maureen asked._

_"Yes," Carl, from ABC News, said. "Is the story true about the talking llama?"_

_"Willoughby," John said. "Willoughby. . ." he shook his head. "We never did really find him."_

_"Shrunk himself, Will, and Doctor Smith by accident during a argument," Maureen said. "Problem was, Willoughby couldn't undo it."_

_"Llamas drink a lot of water if you recall and humans need to drink a full shot," John said. "It was difficult making the decision."_

_"So you chose Smith over the llama?" Carl asked._

_"We chose the llama," John said. "Willoughby had powers and Smith didn't."_

_"But Willoughby vanished before we could give him the cure," Maureen said._

* * *

The scene cut to the present on the white bridge.

Don was piloting the ship through the atmosphere.

John and Maureen were seated side by side while their children were inside the cryostasis pods.

The weight of the ship made it difficult to accelerate breaking through the various levels of the planet's atmosphere while gravity kept him pinned against his seat. Sweat dripped down the Major's skin pushing the joy stick forward. He can feel the weight of the ship tied to his feet struggling to keep up going up the very steep hill. Compared to flying the Jupiter away, this flight was easily more difficult than that. The ship came into space then Don turned on automatic piloting. The Major and the Robinsons released a sigh of relief. The sound of door screeching open from across earned a head turn from the Major toward the hatch door. He came to the hatch then pressed the button to close it only to see a helmet that resembled a old sculpture of a dragon head step in his line of vision. Don jumped back at first then stepped forward.

He slammed the button then watched the creature vanish before his eyes similar to clouds going over the sun giving a very bad view of the figure that seemed to dissipate. He saw familiar outer space laying before him. The constellations hadn't changed except for the lights having faded from certain parts of each point that formed shapes in the night sky. The dragon alien could have been yanked out so fast that he couldn't get a good view of it. He pressed the button alongside the hatch watching the door close before his eyes. Don took out a pipe from the side compartment then pressed on the hatch door button to make sure that it had been sucked out. He leaned back into the bridge as the elevator rolled down behind him. Don turned in the direction of the now-absent elevator where his eyes widened. The Robinsons looked over in the direction of the empty slot.

The camera rolled down the massive ship coming to the large and sprawling residential deck. The elevator came to a stop on the residential deck then there was a thud and it slowly went down the hall where the camera went ahead of the moving figure coming to a stop by Watson. Watson had a irritated sigh. Smith was up on the upper deck. With the Robinsons. It was at that moment did he realize that he was in deep trouble. The trouble that he was in could be measured up to his neck. The kind of trouble that he hadn't gotten into for a very long time. The last time he had gotten in trouble was when he was sixteen years old sneaking out to go see a movie with his girlfriends at the theater. It was like the moment when he heard the front door open behind him, the lights flicker on the yard, and the stern angry glare from his mother piercing from the doorway. He had a disturbing feeling that a person was standing behind him. His gut instincts screamed it was one of the aliens. They had followed him in to the Jupiter 2030.

Which _was true_.

He can feel a cold chill come down his skin.

There was a distinctive lizard hissing coming from behind.

"We have been boarded by a alien," came Don's voice from over the intercomn. "Whatever you are doing, don't attack without help."

That was the difference between him and a pilot. Don was trained to run when there was nothing on him. Watson, however, was a space marine. _He_ was trained to do this kind of combat. _He_ was trained to run toward it. Don never walked around with a dagger attached to his waist laid on his thigh. Watson threw the man's advice away placing his hand on to the handle of the dagger wrapping his fingers around it.

"I never run from a good fight," Watson said, taking his dagger out of the container.

Watson whipped toward the creature that dropped the helmet down to reveal the long spiky beard surrounding its neckline, the side ways slanted eyes, the long 'v' shaped mouth, the distinctive gray and dark gray scales decorating the head that had a visible wound staring from the right eye and undeniably, the creature was pissed off. The alien lizard took off a dressing from the side to reveal that Watson had stabbed out an eye earlier while in earlier combat. Watson realized just then and there that he had pissed off the wrong person in space. He tightened his grip on the dagger then charged at the alien.

The alien lizard caught him by the wrist that was holding on to the dagger. Watson's eyes speeded toward his hand as it became apparent what just happened. They clenched their hand and punched him in the stomach letting go to watch him fly in the air a bit briefly that he landed on the floor clenching on to his wrist. He got up to his feet as the alien lizard took out a katana slowly approaching him. They charged at him but he used the dagger as a sword against the katana thoroughly and efficiently that he blocked every move. Their long blades clashed against each other time after time taken with precision and skill. The alien lizard began to consider if all humans were considerably skilled at swordplay like this one back on Earth. Watson delivered a punch to the lizard alien's face sending them stumbling back. They charged back toward him and their weapons clashed together with sharp high pitch sounds leaving erupting sparks behind.

Watson grew a smirk on his face watching the alien lizard jump back. _This is what aliens get for jumping into the affairs that doesn't need their interference._ The alien lizard charged forward all of a sudden using its other arm to gain the upper ground. They left three jagged cuts on the man's face that dripped of blood. Watson knocked the dagger out of his opponent's grip using his feet then used his other foot kick up into the alien lizard's neck. He dropped the dagger to the floor in a way discarding it then delivered blow after blow drawing the creature close to the elevator. The alien lizard collapsed to the ground landing on their side then lifted themselves up as Watson came over them cracking his knuckles looming over them. The alien lizard lifted themselves half-way up only to be knocked down by a strong unexpected to the side of its face. The alien lizard had a hiss with their right elbow propping up their head partially. The elevator rolled down carrying Don and John.

"Any last words, lizard, before you get what is coming?" Watson asked, lifting the alien lizard by the neck.

The alien lizard hissed, only this time clenching fists tightly and smacking it against his chest.

"Oh," was the only thing that could come out of his mouth.

There were three spikes protruding from his back then he was thrown aside with blood coming from the corners of his mouth.

**B-blast**

Don fired the laser rifle into the creature's back sending the alien dragon falling down to their knees.

"John," Don said.

"That's new," John commented.

Electricity was seen radiating off the alien lizard's armor as they slowly stood up to their feet to face the two men and spread their fingers out, closed their hand, then opened them sending them crashing against the wall (and for Don, the metal barrier) with a thud. Watson had dragged himself over to his only to have it kicked out of his hand by the alien lizard. The alien lizard grabbed him by the head allowing the long, silver blades to shoot out decapitating his head clean. The alien lizard turned toward the two men helping each other up to their feet while pressing a button on the long silver belt. The helmet returned into their hands and placed it back on, picked up the corpse, and faced the two men making the two fingered gesture from above their eyes.

"Did that lizard just salute us?" Don said, in disbelief.

"Yes," John said.

"Just making sure I wasn't imagining things," Don said.

The alien dragon titled their head making a split between their five fingers then was gone in a bright friendly green light. The elevator rolled down to the lower deck where it paused. Don tapped on John's shoulder gesturing toward a rolling yet loudly humming rounded machine coming in toward the pool of blood left behind. They watched the strange machine slide back and forth on the pool leaving behind not a trace. The rounded machine hummed toward John. John picked up the light weight object. It had wheels separated by a large section that consisted of fibers in the center and a long spinning thread connected to a yellow object. John turned the machine over so that it revealed the touch screen that read 'Roomba returning to recharge station'. From the top, a large compartment retracted and a short knife came out so it was abruptly dropped to the floor where it landed with a thud. The knife went back inside covered by the compartment then bumped against Don's feet repeatedly.

Don stepped aside. The rounded item wheeled away past the two men. The two men followed the roomba into the kitchen where it vanished inside a large slot that closed over it. John approached a steaming bowl of potato soup that had been cooked for more than a week day on a consistent heat and he turned it off watching the steam radiating off it. Apparently, they hadn't explored all of the rooms. How they had missed it went beyond the professor. The door opened from behind them then Smith walked in. He wore a new blue fabric around his head that covered where the eye sockets had once been, hands clasped together with the Robot standing guard at the doorway. His pant legs appeared to be torn from running in the forest as were his sleeves, he had a growing stubble, and dirt in his fingernails. His once pink skin had turned to gray from running in the jungle for hours contrasting against their youthful glow. Smith grew a aged, weathered but pleasant smile.

"We have a lot to catch up on, gentlemen," Smith said.

"You don't look too good yourself," John said.

"Pee yew," Don said, waving his hand. "We rather catch up when you've taken a shower."

Rather than a scowl there was a fond smile on Smith's face that faded but it remained a bit subtle.

"And you don't?" Smith asked, tilting his head with a incredulous tone.

"I took a shower," Don said, as the subtle smile completely faded from the elder man's face. "I am still not over it."

"Much like your son," Smith said. "A real _idiot_ unlike you."

Smith walked out of the kitchen and the doors closed behind him leaving a stunned Don behind.

* * *

The shock hadn't faded regarding the news. Joshua Franklin West was his son. He scoured his memories looking back at previous flings with girlfriends that he had relations with prior to going aboard the Jupiter 2. The Robinsons were in new civilian wear that screamed a different era from the one that they had left. Maureen was in a pink shirt and long bell bottoms that highlighted her figure more than it had for her previous outfits with a more pronounced turtle neck that was folded and larger than before. A yellow shirt and green bell bottoms fitted the professor quite well even for the major who had a yellow shirt and orange bell bottoms. Their colorful outfits were contrasted by the black belts around their waists standing in the conference room. They were out of communication range, even the alien mother ship had backed off after taking the alien lizard being, unable to get more information regarding Franklin. Don had read the report regarding the attempt at Smith's life. Lower abdomen, clean wound, bruises decorating the man's body as though he had been bound and tied.

The door to the conference room opened letting in Smith.

He wore dark sunglasses that masked his empty eye sockets using the Robot as his guide and was clean shaven.

He seated down into the chair across from them on the other side of the table and took a visible sigh.

"Where do you want me to start?" Smith asked.

"Joshua, then to the beginning," John said.

"I had dementia when I met him," Smith started. "Unable to form memories that were recent. I thought he was _you_ , Major."

"It's Colonel now," Don said. "I know, I am still getting used to the fast promotion."

Smith grew a teary smile that seemed to be beaming.

"Then this gift from the alien shouldn't belong to me," Smith slid over a colonel's wings. "Colonel."

Don caught the wings.

"Dishonorable discharge," Smith said. "Right after they transferred me to public prison."

Don looked up toward the elderly man.

"He looked just like you with the exception of his voice and his birth mark. He insulted you. I asked him to take it back but he didn't so I slapped him. I revealed who I was then out of self defense I slammed his head on the table and punched him in the face. After that, I was sent to solitary. I avoided him for the next few months." Smith had his hands in his la rather than on the table to keep them out of sight. "One day, I grew very sick and had a bad fall. I was sent to the hospital where I had a double hip replacement during the operation to remove what was trying to kill me. Hours later, Franklin came with a correctional officer, a friend of mine who was under the distinct lie that I was in trouble. Instead of seeing Franklin entering the hospital room, I saw you, Colonel."

Smith shifted his head toward the table then lifted his head up.

"When he took my hand, the three of us were sent to a space station. They betrayed him, _naturally_ , then injected me with nanobots to make me remember," Smith said. "How they knew of my condition. I do not know." he shook his head. "I had to watch Krystal die before my eyes then Franklin was taken into a cell with me. Which is where he reminded me that he was your son," Smith had a deliberate pause. "We had to escape but only one of us was able to get out so I sent him on his merry way. They came in, took me, and began the long trip to another part of the station. I came across some help, made it to the transport room, and we were captured. _Again_."

Smith had a another pause while pressing his fingers against his knuckles, tightly.

The sore sight of the Robot falling over the console felt like it had happened just a moment ago.

The realness to it felt like it were real rather than a memory.

"But this time," Smith went on. "we were able to make a escape with a unlikely source. A hero, they were. We escaped with our lives, caught a ride to the hospital, and went our separate ways. I was transferred to a super max in fear that there might be another attack on me. Fortunately for me, it was done before the first nuclear detonation was set off."

He can still see the large yet distant mushroom cloud where a large city had once been. The ground loudly trembling beneath the wheels of the bus. Alarmed shouts from the prison inmates around him turning around to see what was the cause of the noise. There were hundreds of buses that formed a direct line heading away from the city driving through barren fields passing by cars that had stopped and people were getting out looking on in horror. Some people had fallen to their knees visibly weeping at the disaster knowing someone they loved was dead. A few of them were holding pads repeatedly tapping on it. The screams from the road were of anguish.

"And the empty recharge room?" Maureen asked.

"That belonged to the environmental android," Smith said, earned a bobbed head up in alarm.

"A environmental android?" The Robot asked.

"She looked very human," Smith said. "Compared to you."

"Did she need a energy pack?" The Robot said.

"Yes," Smith said. "Robotology is a field that is used for entertainment according to the manual. Androidology is more promising for the USSC."

"What happened to her?" John asked.

Smith turned away from the Robot.

"I had to send her out the air lock," Smith said.

John furrowed his brows.

"Why did you send her out of the air lock?" John asked.

"I had no choice on the matter," came out regretfully. "She had been reprogrammed to put me back into my pod under any means necessary. . . and my pod is prone to malfunctioning." he looked over toward the Robot then back to John. "I would have called for help had I thrown my back out and it would have started the whole ordeal all over."

"Let me guess," Don said. "Watson."

"Someone woke up while I was tending to the garden or sleeping," Smith shrugged. "One of the two. And didn't want to lay their hands on me."

John and Maureen shared a glance.

"What garden?" Maureen asked.

The scene panned over to the garden and Smith had his hands linked behind his back out of the view of the Robinsons standing from behind them. Maureen was taken back by the view. Don grew a smile looking up toward the artificial sky. There were alien bees flying in toward a large collection of flowers ready to be pollinated. John and Maureen came toward the roses that was separated from the vegetation. John carefully plucked a flower off a stem then handed it off toward Maureen. Smith was standing beside the Robot. His head turned toward the young man able to visualize in his head the looks of surprise and awe on the colonel's face at a strange themed pumpkin. It wasn't orange but red similar to a tomato except it had lines and a large stick coming from the top. He can hear the man pick up the smallest hybrid pumpkin from the patch then toss it up and down repeatedly.

"Is this a fruit or a vegetable?" Don asked, turning toward Smith.

"It's the Falgonian-Sweetian-" Smith ducked. "Vegetable."

The tomato pumpkin instead hit the Robot's glass head with a loud crash that drew the Robinsons attention.

"You missed, Colonel West," The Robot said, nonchalantly.

"Oh, sorry," Don looked toward Smith who balanced himself back up using the Robot's long arms.

"You are very predictable," Smith said, as the Robot threw a tomato at Don's face with a splat.

"Favor returned," The Robot said, cleaning off his claws earning laughter in return.

* * *

The hard part about being in the dark is navigating one sway in a unfamiliar surrounding without aid. The problem was being so familiar to the dark that it seemed more comforting than seeing color and shapes. Sitting on the bed in sick bay cupping his hands together. The long blue fabric laid aside on the edge of the bed. He heard Maureen's footsteps headed his way after closing the container. John and Don were searching for a glass container to replace the Robot's broken head. Smith distinctively recalled seeing a vase that was similar to the Robot resting on the counter in every quarters. It was only a matter of time before John noticed.

"Sorry, Madame," Smith said.

Smith felt his shoulders become light with the heavy feeling lifting off his shoulders.

"It wasn't your fault that we were in the bubble," Maureen said. "That was all John's."

Smith stared at her.

"The pacemaker," Smith said.

Maureen paused as it occurred to what he was apologizing for.

"You were being suppressed," Maureen said.

"I remember how it began," Smith said. "I was in control _then_." He cleared his throat.

"We all make mistakes," Maureen said.

"I had the option of transferring the entity into a more welcoming, convenient item for the trip, place it in the air lock, and let it fly out to his pleasure but instead I lost it," he lifted his head up with a sigh then kept himself still allowing her to put the prosthetic eye into his right socket. The soft click followed afterwards. He closed his eyes feeling the sheering pain coming from the long strings. "I left the container behind after being startled by a prehistoric rhino. A accident on my part. I never meant for anyone to get hurt."

"We thought that's how it happened," Maureen said.

"Please," Smith said, as she popped the other eye in. "Call me Smith."

His eyelids fluttered becoming adjusted to the change in color. All he could see was blue that had distinct shapes. Blue as the sky over Earth. A smile grew on the woman's face that was returned by the pardoned man.

"Alright, Smith,"Maureen said, squeezing his hands.

"Thank you," Smith said.

Maureen lowered her gaze.

"What happened to your hands?" Maureen asked, shifting her eyes up toward him.

Smith turned his gaze down toward his hands as Maureen let go and he set his hands onto his lap.

"The beginning should be first," Smith said. "This time. I'll start off after I had left the planet."

The doors to sick bay opened letting in John and Don. It was then Smith knew then that they had to know. They had to know everything. Except for the classified mission he went on thirty some years ago under Stargate command. That could only be told to Don. His eyes felt heavy directed at Don. A heavy heart that he had to tell the young man that the US Government never went back for him. Disbelief, denial, and anger would have been a familiar stage for the pilot to be walking on with the Jupiter 2 crew to watch on full display. It was decided. He was going to save that story for later. Maybe never if Smith had it his way. He had talked about it enough with Stargate Command's numerous counselors. The camera panned around coming away from his perspective twirling toward the doors that closed before the view changing the scene to pitch black.

* * *

The view focused out of the pitch directly into the bright yet colorful Jupiter 2030 interior coming on to the bridge. The children were inside their pods including Don. Smith was inside a booth, fast asleep, frozen still under the purple light with his hands to his back. The camera dived down to the residential deck that seemed quiet and still. The warm humming coming from the engines was a pleasant sound to hear contrasting against the wail of the deutronium engines from outside. The Robot's lab was covered in Dorats that were clinging to the wall huddled in a corner in the dark room. The Robot's neon cover was glowing white growing in intensity from around his glass head. There was the sound of doors automatically opening. Our view turned around to face the couple coming out of the large doorway side by side. From both sides of John's head was graying hair that had appeared over time.

"Five years," John said.

"I can't believe it has been that long," Maureen said.

"Neither can I," John said.

"Yet, we are here," Maureen said,

"Still young but a little older, more wary for the wear," John said. "And more experienced."

"More experienced," Maureen said. "Try being a bigger family."

"I was thinking of taking a little pit stop," John said. "This time right in front of a beach. Preferably."

"No exploring?" Maureen teased.

"The last time we went into a jungle, it didn't turn out the way we wanted," John said. "Only twelve hours away from Alpha Centauri."

"Twelve hours," Maureen said. "The closest we have ever been to it. Let's go to that pit stop."

"This time," John said. "No one can stop us. Not when it comes to make this stop."

"After all the instances we have had being prevented from getting there," Maureen said, coming to a stop at the elevator. "I can't help but feel something will try to undoubtedly."

"We shot down a robot shark last month," John said. "With installed phasers. "

"We didn't have that last time," Maureen said.

"Last time we had laser pistols and evasive procedures," John said. "Even with the additions, everything we have been through, it has been a very easy ride to Alpha Centauri."

"Too easy," Maureen agreed, sliding open the barrier.

John was the first one to get on the elevator.

"I will put up the shields," John said.

"It will be good to see the children again," Maureen said, coming to his side.

"It will be," John said, sliding the barrier aside. "The last five years have been fun."

"And you think Alpha Centauri won't?" Maureen asked.

"The many things that we didn't do in the last several years with the children," John said. "It is too good to be true."

"I am scared, too," Maureen said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

John turned his head toward the younger woman.

"I admit," he pressed the up button after sliding the barrier in front of them. "The Dorats have been nice companions and the Robot taking care of them for us have been a welcomed craziness I didn't think I wanted."

"Bats clinging to the Robot," Maureen said, with a laugh. "And trying to fly off with him."

John laughed.

"That is the best part of the last five years," John said, looking down toward her dottingly.

The elevator came to a stop on the upper deck then the barrier was slid aside and they walked toward the pods. Maureen pressed the buttons on the pods one by one that belonged to the girls while John turned off the pods that held Don and Will. Golden lights illuminated from their figures then they stumbled out one by one coming down the steps. Will and John hugged then the young teenager stepped back with a smile on his face visibly relieved to see everything was okay.

"You've gone gray, dad," Will said. "It looks good on you."

"If I say so myself, it does," John agreed.

"Did anything unremarkable happen in the last five years?" Will asked.

"Nothing that can stand out as invading the Jupiter," John said. "It was mainly uneventful."

"Uneventful?" Maureen asked, as the two girls turned sideways out of the warm hug toward their father. "That's what you like to call the Dorats?"

"That is different," John said, earning a bemused look from Maureen.

"Dorats?" Judy asked.

"We have a hydroponic deck on the upper deck," Maureen said. "Full of alien insects from spiders, ants, and bees."

Don came over to Smith's pod then pressed on the button. There was no glow coming from the standing man. Don pressed it again then moved his eyes toward the installed screen from beside the booth. The screen was sizzling before his eyes that shifted toward the frozen man. Don kept pressing the button repeatedly. The Robinsons eyes shifted from each other toward the colonel.

"Don," Judy said. "what is wrong?"

Don turned toward the group.

"We got a little problem with the booth," Don said.

"How big of a problem?" John asked.

Don pressed the big button and the computer screen sizzled playing with numbers.

"The kind we don't expect to happen," Don said.

John came over to the screen then squinted at the changing text beside the shape of a humanoid. The text changed from five minutes, ten minutes, forty minutes, fifty-five minutes, three hours, forty-eight hours, one hundred eighty-four hours, one thousand three hundred thirty-four hours, and then it finally rested on: _undetermined._ Below that was red text reading: **error**. The word blinked in and out against the dark screen. The men blocked view of the camera appearing to be uneasy about the matter. John turned toward his family. How does one tell their family that one of their own may never wake up in their lifetime? How does one tell them that they may wake up after they are all dead and the only one left would be the Robot to provide companionship or their descendants?

"Smith is going to take awhile to wake up," John said. "In the mean time, we're going to a beach on a nearby planet and have a much needed _actual_ vacation."

"We call it, Precentauri," Maureen added. "We will be seventeen hours away from Alpha Centauri if we go there."

"That's the most we will be away from it," John said. "No further."

"Did you change the course?" Don asked.

"No," John said. "I thought I would leave that to you. I can give you the coordinates."

"Children, let's find you some swimming suits," Maureen said, guiding the teenagers to the elevator.

The barrier closed behind the small group that had Will looking over concerned toward Smith's booth. Maureen placed a hand on the young man's shoulder and squeezed it. He turned his head toward his mother to see the reassuring look. It was going to be okay in the long run. The two men followed afterwards and vanished into the lower deck. The camera explored the mothership a little more going on to find a large deactivated cell placed on the other half of the bridge with a large window beside it and a slot for a keyboard underneath it. The camera panned back to the bridge that suddenly trembled from side to side. The Robinsons came up the elevator in their silver and orange spacesuits. One of the men bolted toward the chair in front of the console as the view backed out to reveal a spaceship that was attacking the Jupiter 2030.

It was a spaceship that resembled a thick wheel put together connected to one large very thick stick which was firing orange blasts at the mothership. It was slightly smaller than the Jupiter 2030. Don pressed on the transparent button. The button glowed yellow reading 'phaser'. Another blast struck the ship sending the Robinsons flying to the ground from the strong blast that left the ship floating adrift but well in orbit. Don was the first one to awake feeling his head pounding while laid on the butt rest of the neighboring chair beside him. His eyes were seeing double with a high pitch wail repeating in his ears. Don propped himself up using the arm rest and the seat then made his way over to John. The ship was clung on to by the attacker. John came by Maureen's side placing his hand on her shoulder then gently shook it while Don came over to Judy's side. The elevator rolled down the mother ship. Members of the Robinsons got up to their feet. John made his way to the small cubby taking out the small pistols and handed them to Don, Judy, and Maureen.

The children were sent to corridor away from the airlock.

The second door was forced open as the group stood guard in front of Will and Penny.

Light gray smoke rolled into the room as the Robinsons moved to the back.

"On the count of three," John said. "We give them all that we got."

He looked over toward the grown members of the family and Maureen gave a nod.

John turned his attention on to the doorway in a very tense manner toward the thick cloud of smoke.

Figures came through the entrance until they became clear as day. They were tall with lower fangs on the bottom of their mouths that stood out, they had long fine fur that turned to green as it grew longer, their eyes were oval in shape staring quite fiercely toward the group, wearing light jackets that were dark brown with a secondary golden theme to them, and had paws for feet standing on their hind quarters in a very human like manner, wide flaps set alongside their face close to their eyes that reminded Don of a male orangutan, and they had obvious pointy hairy ears. The attackers had long, thick rifles that seemed to be thin but wide enough enough to be considered light and mobile contrasting against the armor coating their lower half of their figure completed by a blue sash covered in stars wrapped around their waist. The larger, more visibly muscular member of the group grew a unnaturally big smirk. A knowing look was in their eyes. The leader snapped his fingers. They raised their rifles toward the Robinsons then pressed the trigger.

The Robinsons split up on to different parts of the corridor firing back at the aliens. Penny took Will by the hand taking him away from the firefight. Judy backed off knocking several of the yetis that collapsed to the ground. Don was hit sent falling down against the wall sliding down with a grimace. Blasts from the attacking space yetis were striking walls, the astrogator, and several screens. The screen beside Smith's booth cackled loudly with electricity bolting out of it. Judy came over to the pilot's side covering him with firing. She grabbed Don by the arm and dragged him away from the scene. A puff of fur came from the disturbed space yetis that coated the room one after another going around the astrogator following the retreating Robinsons. A golden light illuminated from the booth. The door slid open during the fire fight. Smith's eyes opened as he walked out rubbing his forehead feeling a oncoming sneeze among what sounded to be laser blasts. And then something entered his nose. A lot of somethings. Something was getting ready to be sent out his nose

"Can someone-" AAAH CHU "Explain to me-" AHH CHU "What in the heavens IS GOING ON?" AHHH CHU!

He fell against what felt like a furry arm and sneezed into it.

"Pardon-" aaah chu! Smith was shoved aside landing against the pant leg of a another "me!"

Smith had another sneeze.

"I-" aah chu ah chu ah chu ah chu "Surrender!"

Smith held his hands up then he felt whatever was keeping his back up suddenly retreat.

The elderly man propped himself up against the blue scenery using what felt to be the very same booth from behind him. The elderly man sneezed and promptly watched two figures crash in front of him. He turned away from them making a way around sneezing his way toward the Robinsons. His head bobbing up and down with each sneeze. What wasn't being realized was each and every space yeti being sneezed on didn't notice. Not even when some of his mucus landed on the side of their cheeks sliding down the fur to the skin. The skin turned a heated head. They froze where they stood, violently trembling, forced to fall back convulsing falling against the shoulder of another and sliding down to the ground. It was catching on among the pack of space yetis, member by member of the firing squad fell to the ground convulsing violently with ooze coming out of their mouths and their figures were beginning to swell up as did their faces. Their grips on the phaser rifles was lost uncurling around from the trigger. Out of alarm, the others puffed out a large quantity of fur that landed on Smith when the message was being exchanged in the phaser fire.

Among the welcoming blue theme was a light rain that wasn't rain. It was thin, fine shapes falling down in the air carrying them gently down to the ground. Some movements of the thin material were floating off away from the floor rather than down toward it. Smith brushed past the large hands that swatted him away that earned a prompt sneeze on to them. The elderly man made his way out of the crowd landing to his knees in the free gap of space before the Robinsons. He can hear the Robot's fading voice from the background while lifting himself up to see the terrified, frozen family in the hall They were holding on to their small laser pistols in the middle of a dilemma. The Robot's voice was no longer able to be heard. Don was slouched against the wall holding on to his laser pistol, a grip that was visibly trembling, to the normally well composed man. He had been hit somewhere in the chest. A wound that needed immediate attention. John had a lazy arm to his side rather than holding on to the handle of the laser pistol. Maureen was keeping her aim steady but it was lowering since the fire fight had abruptly stopped. Something grabbed him by the back of his shirt pinching his skin briefly holding him up in the air in their direction which turned him away from the Robinsons.

"Hand him over and we'll consider surrendering," John said.

Smith was sneezing into his hands varying in intensity getting loud and louder.

"Aaaah," the captain said. "I will pass on that."

Smith heard a deep growl coming from the space yeti that tore his hands off his face to make him see him.

"Look at the face of your executioner, elder," the captain said.

Smith opened his mouth and raised his eyebrows as he could feel one coming raising his eyes up away from the space yeti raising his left arm up and right arm reached back as though he were going to do something while holding up his index finger.

"LOOK AT ME!" the captain shook him repeatedly.

Smith sneezed into the space yeti's face.

"My-" Aaaah chu! "deepest-" aaaah chu! "-apologies," Aaaaah CHU! "Sir!"

Smith took out his handkerchief then wiped off the mucus off the space yeti's face observing it getting darker.

"Are you done?" the captain asked, as the elderly man reached back his hand sliding the handkerchief into his pocket.

Smith opened his mouth holding his hand up looking off for a moment.

"Why yes," Smith replied, tapping his hands together in his lap visibly still facing the captain beginning to lift his head back, his nose wiggled, his eyes squinted gazing down, and eyebrows raised.  "I-I- _believe_ I am."

The sneeze came flying out landing on the space yeti's face. Green mucus splattered over the swelled up skin underneath all the fur. The captain threw Smith to the ground with stinging eyes. The captain screeched, covering his burning eyes, turning away from the Robinsons. The captain fell down to his knees coming to a landing on his side, falling over, his body convulsing with blood coming out of his mouth, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, and spitting out a water fountain of blood that stained his perfectly white fur. The remaining back up and squad looked on toward the Robinsons who were pretending be sneezing. The aliens fled taking the dead with them on their way to evacuating the spaceship.

The family escorted them out sneezing sending out spit toward the aliens. The doors closed behind them and the ship let go of the Jupiter 2030 in a stable orbit. The Robinsons cheered in victory. Will turned away then ran toward the fallen coming to his side. Smith was snoring away pressed against the wall with one hand pressed under his head in the lightened corridor. Will shook the elderly man away with one hand on his shoulder. Smith slowly stirred awake with a tired groan lifting himself up from the floor half way then sneezed into his sleeve. A terrible head ache began making the side of his head pound loudly. Smith took Will's offered arm bringing himself up to his feet joined by the Robinsons.

"How does it feel to have a obscure allergy to send aliens running?" Don asked.

Smith rolled a eye.

"Spare me the-" Smith sneezed into his elbow. "Victory lap, Colonel." he waved his hand dismissively earning laughter in return.

"We may need to put the vacation a little on hold," Maureen said.

"On hold?" Penny asked. "We have come too far for that."

"For a few hours," John said.

"I have to check if anything was damaged during the attack and see what repairs we may need to do," Don said. "Alpha Centauri could be _weeks_ away by now!"

"You can check on it when you are functional," John said, Judy was providing him balance as Don was clenching on to his wound.

"Speaking of functional," Maureen said, as she took the laser pistol from John's hand with care. "You _both_ need a visit to sick bay."

"What are you looking at me for?" Smith asked, their eyes on him. "I can't practice medicine."

"We are not exactly on Earth, Smith," John said. "that is Earth laws not outer space laws."

"And you have experience in applying care," Maureen said.

"If you insist," Smith said.

"I need help moving Robot out of the elevator," Will called from the bridge.

Their attention went off the elderly man then went in the direction of the bridge in a concerned manner. Smith felt numb. A feeling that he was still coming down to grip. A feeling that people needed him and wanted him to help. He wiped off the tear with his sleeve from his right eye. He looked down toward his hands. Hands that hadn't practiced treating someone other than him for thirty-one years. _I need to wash my hands before treating them._ The long, twisted fingers were clasped together while he was walking on toward the scene rather slowly listening to the sound of his boots echo behind him catching up to the moving figures that were surrounding the Robot's hunched over mess. Smith sneezed over the field of fur. The women straightened the groaning Robot then the elevator rolled down to the lower decks.

"How-" aaah chu "was the-" aaah chu "-hydroponics weather," aaah chu "Professor?" Smith asked, earning a glare from the professor.

"You failed to mention it simulates a rainy day," John said.

"It-" aah chu "did?" Smith asked, his eyes growing big slightly leaning back.

"Yes," John said.

"How-" aah chu "-soon-" ah chu "-was it-" aah chu "-after-" ah chu "-I went in?" Smith asked, concerned.

"Five hours," John said.

"Ah," Smith grimaced. He sneezed. "What a damp."

"Was that a joke?" Don asked.

"It could-" aaah chu "-be if-" aah chu " you want to be," Smith said, as the elevator came up.

* * *

The Jupiter gently landed on a hill that over looked a beach. There were sighs of relief. No aliens boarding their ship to attack or capture them, no unstable ground, and certainly, nothing was going wrong for the time being. The Robinsons changed from their space suits into their loose clothing that went over the beach wear and could be taken off at a moments notice. The Robot was the first one down the platform from the residential deck.

"I feel charming, oh, so charming, It's alarming how charming I feel!" The Robot sang, loudly. His light gray primary theme was replaced by white but kept his secondary color that was black. "and so pretty!" he waved his long arms in the air continuing down the platform. "That I hardly can believe I'm reeeeeaaaaaaaal!"

Maureen and John were the first couple down the platform.

"I never seen the Robot this happy before," Maureen said, as the Robot twirled.

"Such a pretty helmet, such a pretty design, such pretty claws, such a pretty me!" The Robot sang.

"We all deserve to be happy," John said, coming to the side.

John had his arm in a green sling that had a wrap along his neck.

"I agree!" Don said, coming down the platform with Judy. Don started to look toward the heavily damaged Jupiter.

"Don," Maureen said, earning his attention. "Don't focus on the Jupiter."

"Focus on vacation," John said.

There was a missing hatch door from above.

"Right," Don said.

"Robot, where is your surf board?" Will asked, as Smith came strolling down the platform lowly happily humming to himself. It was a low and distinctive that it served as background noise.

The Robot snapped to attention.

"My surf board?" The Robot said, bobbing his head up. "My surf board!" The Robot wheeled toward the platform. Will stepped aside. "Excuse me!"

The Robot accidentally Smith aside up the platform with a startled yelp landing on to the red mobile folded chair.

"Ninny!" Smith shouted from the other side of the platform.

Penny came over to the elder's side and helped him up to his feet.

"Are you alright?" Penny asked.

"Quite so," Smith replied, rubbing his butt as he held on to her larger hand. "Thank you, Penelope." and gave it a subtle squeeze.

"Let's go," John said, then walked on ahead with Will and Penny carrying some of the beach gear in their arms walking ahead of the three. 

Smith kicked up his red mobile chair into his hands then placed it against the platform as the others walked on ahead. His gaze raised up then squinted his eyes. There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes that replaced the slightly curious, unbothered look. He turned his gaze down lowering his head and shook it out of shame. A wave of old feelings came over him. Old, painful memories came forth that felt like it was just a moment ago rather than years. The realness to it, a curse of his nanobots, made him feel vulnerable.

"Smith, aren't you coming?" Judy asked, coming to a stop looking over concerned toward the elderly man.

Smith raised his head up offering a smile toward the paused couple.

"I will join you shortly," Smith said, dusting his hands off. "I have one order of business to attend."

"And what _is_ that?" Don asked, suspiciously.

"The right umbrella," Smith said, twirling his transparent umbrella alongside his neck in a lady like manner.

Don had a laugh.

"You picked the wrong umbrella," Don said. "How did you pick the wrong umbrella?"

"The beach deck was covered in yeti fur that was brought in by boots," Smith said. "I had to rush."

"Not anymore," Don said. "The Roomba took care of it."

"Roomba?" Smith asked, raising his brows.

"A Roomba," Don repeated.

"What is a Roomba?" Smith asked.

"How can you not have seen this thing for as long as you were awake," Don said, in disbelief earning a shrug.

"The Jupiter was full of glitches when I first woke up," Smith said. "Nothing was working right."

"Except for the navigation system," Don said.

"We went off course for a few hours," Smith said. "Alexa fixed it."

"Who is Alexa?" Judy asked.

"More so _what is_ Alexa," Smith said, looking off fondly. "The environmental android," Smith turned his attention up toward the Robinsons. "I might have given her a make over in the form of a clown before we had to go our separate ways."

"Silly old Smith," Judy said, as they walked after the other members of the group. "What does he mean by first wake up?"

"That is a story for after vacation,"  Don said. "Not a story for the beach."

Smith clicked on the umbrella then it was coated in pitch black layers as he looked toward a distant familiar old spacecraft. He quietly made his way toward the beehive starship that was smaller than the Jupiter 2030. It was decorated in ancient brown writing but the title above the entrance was dangling side ways reading in English. Oddly enough, "Rogers Zekar Healing Service". He stabbed the umbrella's pointy tip into the ground setting it beside him. Smith cracked his knuckles keeping his composure. He pressed on the big, rounded button set alongside the doors then leaned back tapping his fingers together. The ringing echoed within the starship. There was crashing overheard from inside the starship. The Robot came down the ramp of the Jupiter with his retrieved surf board that stood long and wide enough to carry him. He bobbed his head up in surprise to see Smith's figure standing at a starship. The Robot made his way to the old man quickly on his updated treads that allowed him a very fast roll and landing against the side of the ship that made his helmet ring and a groan. Smith sighed, annoyed, facing the Robot.

"What are you doing here?" Smith asked. "You should be down at the beach."

"You are planning something and I do not like it,"

"It's Rogers," Smith said. "Rogers the healer."

The Robot's head lowered.

"How can you be certain that this is his?" The Robot asked.

"Because I bought it for him," Smith said, then gestured toward the side along the door that read 'Bought by Zachary Smith' in black permanent marker.

"You do not want to revisit the past," The Robot warned.

"I have a matter to resolve," Smith said. "I am not revisiting the past."

"More so giving him the pain he gave you," The Robot said

"Thirty-five years ago I would have done that if it were just me and him in the same room until all that was left had been a bloody mess of brain matter, bones, and squashed eyes," Smith said. "I felt a lot after that betrayal." he tapped his fingers together listening to the sound of falling equipment falling down a spiral of stairs. "Fortunately, I had a lifetime to cool off."

"You do not know if you have until he comes to the door," The Robot said.

Smith turned his head toward the Robot then turned it toward the door and took a double take with a look of disbelief.

"You are afraid that I will shove him in and lock the door behind me," Smith said.

"Affirmative," the Robot said.

"You want me to have told the colonel that the man responsible for this," he held his hands out. "is here?"

"Affirmative," The Robot said, as Smith tapped his fingers together in his lap.

"You are more of a dullard than I remember," Smith said.

"Memories have a unique way of being distorted to be recalled in a certain someone's favor," The Robot said.

Smith's eyes grew big then glared toward the Robot

"No wonder you went up in flames so viciously." The Robot grew silent. "Your armor turning to brown as the flames traveled down your body. Your glass head breaking apart with a loud, high pitch sharp noise. Your little head lights poles bending, twirling," he flicked his fingers against the colorful lights. "and melting after the glass shattering before my eyes." he glided his index finger into mid-air. "Your claws melting dropping piece by piece to the grass. Your body steaming with flames and smelling terrible being eaten away by the blast. Your glass neck breaking louder than your head. Being consumed into the flames within minutes defying all forms of logic. Your rubber arms burning away with a awful stench. Your grill cackling, sending glass flying, and smoke rising up from your burned shell that was taken away in the flames. Not leaving behind any ashes to bury!"

There was a long moment of silence between them.

"I believe you, Zachary Smith," The Robot said.

Smith seemed taken back, startled, in alarm toward the Robot.

"Did you really mean that?" Smith asked.

"Affirmative," The Robot said, then repeated. "I believe you."

Validation, relief, and a heavy weight fell off his chest allowing him to feel light as a feather.

"Thank you," Smith said.

The door suddenly opened before them. Smith and the Robot turned in the direction of a strange humanoid being with elephant ears, small hands that had long fingers, and seemed to be covered in scales from head to toe. It was Rogers. He hadn't aged a day compared to the elderly man. Rogers froze as though seeing something occurring before his eyes. He covered his mouth in horror and placed the other hand on the side of the doorway. Recognition flickered in the man's eyes. He had crystal shaped eyes, albino skin, and had a metal leg that had a spring in the center between the knee and the ankle. The Robot counted the minutes that were passing by from the immediate loud dramatic gasp that did nothing to break the silence coming from Smith.

"My god, the pain you went through," Rogers said. "How did you survive the pit of despair?"

Smith paused, briefly considering his reply thoughtfully, then turned his attention up toward the younger man.

"Pain hurts," Smith said. "it is okay to feel pain, show pain, express feelings about it. Doesn't make you less of a man. But we have to acknowledge the pain and talk about it. Or else we never grow, heal, and learn from what made that pain possible."

Smith slapped Rogers.

"Ow," Rogers rubbed his cheek.

Smith slapped Rogers a second time.

"Okay that was a good one-" Rogers was slapped again. "Feel better?"

"It has taken me a long time to forgive one man for bringing a friend of mine to her death," Smith said.

"Me?" Rogers asked.

"No," Smith said, flatly. "Someone else more deserving of it. I can be angry at him for much as I like but it will _never_ bring my friend back."

"Come on, where is Harold and the others?" Rogers asked. "They could have forgiven me for my mistake."

"Twelve UFO abductees were going home and you took that away by throwing them to the very people you owed," Smith said. "I promised them, each and every one of them, that _I_ would bring them back to Earth to the authorities who would get them sorted out. I was only able to bring their heirlooms to Earth," Rogers face grew long with heartbreak in his eyes nearing tears. "How do you _think_ I survived the pit of despair?" he jabbed his finger into the man's chest with anger in his eyes.

Smith held his hands out.

"You dug your way out," Rogers said, then the elderly man took his hands back with a insulted expression on his face.

"I climbed," Smith said.

"Do you feel better, Doctor Smith?" Rogers asked.

Smith slapped him two more times consecutively.

"I should have never helped you out of that freezing cell," Smith said, shaking his head. "And you have _no right_ to refer me by that title. Not even as your friend."

"Ow," Rogers asked, rubbing his cheek. "I thought we were."

"We were hardly friends," Smith said. "we were cooperating as a team working on a common goal and had no affiliations to each other."

Rogers looked off, stroking his cheek.

"Woah," Rogers said. "Nice ship you got there." he turned his attention toward Smith. "How were you the only one to get out of that problem into another?"

Smith's hands rolled into fists.

"The Robinsons are not a problem," Smith said.

"Robinson Robot," The Robot spoke up, waving a claw.

"Aren't they dead?" Rogers asked

"Negative," the Robot replied. "The Robinsons were trapped in a time bubble for a hour compared to the rest of the time space continuum."

"Why do you think my hands were normal for the last week?" Smith added.

"No," Rogers said, freezing where he stood. "You didn't. How. You. I. What? How? Did you? You can't have."

"I did," Smith said. "Cloned one too many times can't be entirely sure if I am original or not. I have the memories so of course I am Zachary Smith the original."

"Then what happened to the other?" Rogers asked.

"Why do you think Johnny, the only smart one of the group," Smith added, bitterly. "took the last functional cryostasis pod and brought the number down to twelve before they came?"

"That was a cryostasis pod!" Rogers exclaimed.

"That's why Harold, Johnny, and I went in to the Jupiter and caught you," Smith said. "That is why I was with them. That is why I know you betrayed us, you egregious simpleton," The Robot got in between the two men acting as a barrier restraining Smith from bolting in after the younger man. "There are only so many words in the English Language that can describe the pain, anger, and hurt from what you left us in!"

Smith's face changed from a glowing pink to a heated red. The once flat center of the nose became scrunched up. His hands were rolled into fists that were being shook with one fist having a index finger out jabbing toward the younger man. Rogers stepped back from the doorway from Smith. For a human that was very old and angry, he was able to scare a being twice his height out of fear for their life. The Robot had his arms wrapped around the elder's torso ever so tightly that he couldn't barge into the spaceship.

"I never meant for them to die!" Rogers said. "I never meant for it to turn out that way."

"No," Smith said. "you meant never to see any of us alive."

The Robot let go moving toward the elderly man's side but kept a claw on to his shoulder in case he  was going to charge in at the last minute. Rogers looked down toward the elder man's hand then raised his attention up with a slack jaw showing his befuddlement.

"Hey, uh, why are your hands still screwed up?" Rogers asked, pointing toward the elderly man's hands.

"Because I didn't want to be prodded at and have eyes on me for all the wrong reasons," Smith said. "If you know what is best for you, don't make another tragedy unfold here, because if you try," the Robot's free claw sizzled electricity. "You will surely die by the hands of my great, humbling, and honest as robots come, _buddy_."

Rogers was visibly trembling.

"No problems here," Rogers said, shaking his hands.

"Good," Smith said.

"We will be here for approximately three point two months," the Robot said.

"In that time frame," Smith said. "Be a healer and don't get into a threatening alien's business _for once."_

The Robot let go of the elderly man's shoulder.

Smith whipped away from the younger man then walked off spinning his umbrella making his way to the discarded seat left against the platform leading up into the Jupiter 2.

"If you approach Zachary Smith," The Robot warned. "The only one you will have to be _very_ afraid of is Colonel West. Not me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rogers asked.

"He will leave you alive," The Robot said. "but in horrible pain."

"Booby," Smith called, distantly. The Robot shifted toward the elderly man. "Go to the beach and enjoy yourself!"

"Good day, sir," The Robot's head bobbed up then whirred away from Rogers.

Rogers was gasping for breath looking on toward the figures.

"Ah. . . . shit," Rogers said. "I am in _real_ trouble now."

* * *

For the sake of survival, people are willing to do anything. Including when it comes to being drafted, forced into situations they do not want to be in, and accidentally brought into a dangerous situation, living in a dangerous situation, all the accounts come down to fight or hide. Sometimes, it comes down to people standing up for their own and acting as protectors using the most unlikely tools to save the day. Many times they make the best safe place to live in out of the most unfathomable and make a living in their new home.  A adaptable quality of humanity living on hope that life will get better. People are tested in these moments that define them. When a entire civilization is threatened, the military responds and the civilians response is looking for cover between the fire. Humanity is tested at a whole.

Millions of years ago, humanity used to live in the caves that offered them protection. And now in the middle of a nuclear war being waged from above had sent them back down underground for shelter.  Each strike made pieces of rock fall to the ground with each tremble. There were torches in the caves set above improvised stations selling product while everyone ignored what was going on above. Dogs, cats, and inconvenient animals walked among the crowd largely unnoticed. Bats were clinging to the walls from above making little chirps tending to each other. The sound of chirps echoed in the rather large cave with widened tunnels that stretched on for hundreds if not thousands of miles. There were parts of the cave that were for civilian living space and animal living space. There was a large interconnected zoo part of the cave that was keeping up with the animals well being. Animals continued to thrive under the radiation while humans stayed away (some went back to care for the animals). The giraffes had to be let go to the surface on the quarantined half of the US. Or what was left of the surface. People still lived in the surface that wasn't being bombarded with nuclear bombs in peace and solitude. Doomsday preppers still lived in ready made bunks underneath radiated zones even in their castles that they had made themselves with their very much alive family killing off the nuclear horrors that came to their doorsteps.

The marketplace was a scene that was all together flown over into a deeper cavern that was full of music with lights flickering multiple colors and singing and jumping and dancing. The scene flew down into a more relaxed and slow and casual scene. The glasses were trembling from the sound music coming from the loud cavern. A hooded figure came down the tunnel that consisted of stairs. The figure lowered their hood to reveal themselves as Franklin West. He had a long, wide scar traveling from the side of his face lacking a left eyebrow and part of his ear was missing. He had a prosthetic eye that seemed robotic as though he had damaged it quite a deal over the last few years. His hands seemed to be made of metal, raw prosthetic lacking skin, that were clenched together tightly. Age and time made a big difference between him and his father. He seated down on to a chair made of rock and relaxed. He took off his coat to reveal his camouflaged marine jacket placing it down to his lap. He buried his face into his hands. There was a loud mooing coming within the room that sounded close by.

"Look like you need a drink," a woman  in her late fifty's came from behind the counter. "Cathy. Owner of this part."

"Cathy, where am I?" Franklin asked.

"Not a bar," Cathy said. "This is a rest stop."

"Franklin West," Franklin said. "Here."

"No, no, no money," Cathy said.

"What?" Franklin said, baffled.

"We're trying to start all over here, kiddo," Cathy said. "Money has no meaning here."

"That doesn't sound right," Franklin said. "Most rest stops accept money,"

"If you can't tell, we're in pretty bad shape," Cathy said. "This cavern law  says no money."

"Then how do you get drinks here?"  Franklin asked.

The woman brought over a donation jaw.

"I happen to be a drink collector and a farmer," Cathy sad.

"You got cows in the back?" as a loud, soft mooing was heard in the background.

"Yes," Cathy said.

"How do you feed cows in a cave?" Franklin asked.

"When there is soil and you have grass and seeds," Cathy said. "Anything is possible. What do you like?"

"A drink," Franklin said.

"Some champagne?" Cathy asked.

"No," Franklin said. "A drink."

"Green tea coming right up," Cathy said.

Franklin slipped in the cash into the donation jaw that was visibly full of coins and rolled up dollars.

"Nuclear war still ranging up there?" Franklin asked.

"Yes," Cathy said. "You are trying to find a part of the planet that hasn't been hit."

"I like somewhere that I can just sit back and relax without the ever looming thought that the next place can be bombed," Franklin said, as Cathy turned around with a glass. "No more war."

"We all like that," Cathy said. She looked at him. "You look familiar."

"I should think so," Franklin said. "Only son of Colonel West." Franklin took a sip.

Cathy's eyebrows raised.

"Did you see the last Lost in Space movie that they released?" Cathy asked.

"No," Franklin said. "I don't really have the patience to watch anything lately."

"They reunited the old cast--it's a miracle that they survived all this!" Cathy said. "They even aged up the Robinsons appropriately. That was last year." Franklin lowered the glass.

"It's been five years," Franklin said. "Five long silent years from the Jupiter 2030. Don't know if they actually left Robinsons Paradise."

"Most people bet they arrived to Alpha Centauri by now," Cathy said.  "Alpha Control hasn't told us anything about the other Jupiters so why not."

Franklin shook his head, laughing, his gaze on the woman.

"Knowing the Robinsons, they are probably having that over due vacation on a alien planet that _is not_ Alpha Centauri," Franklin said, as the camera moved toward the glass in his hand. "and enjoying every minute of it."

The camera focused in to the water that turned to a shade of blue then the view sped up to the tune of 'under the sea' heading toward the beach where the Robinsons were laid on the beach. Don was seated in a floaty enjoying the sun coated in sun screen himself with hand one in the water. His wound had been thoroughly cleaned leaving only behind the faintest of a scar that had been sutured up. John was seated on the each alongside Maureen while the song was being played on the radio at full blast. They had drinks in the arm rests beside them. Maureen wore a big sun hat hat was very colorful. Three shark fins were gliding towards the very still water. Smith was under the tree sighing in content in his long sleeved t-shirt that had a turtle neck and long pants that covered his scars rather than beach wear. Smith seemed to be visibly at peace. The Robot was wheeling out a board from the Jupiter that had a ramp leading up to the device that was big and big enough for the Robot. The camera watched the yellow and green floaty get struck drawing the young man's alarm. Three figures bolt out of the water sending him falling out leaving the floaty intact.

"This is a wonderful day," Maureen said, as Don lunged over the arm rest of the floaty over the laughter of the others.

"It is," John agreed, looking toward Maureen with a nod taking her hand that was set by his side looking over lovingly and happily toward her.

The Robot was surfing the wave in the background.

"Wooooohoooo!" The Robot cheered.

The four members of the family watched him pass by with a claw gliding along the edge of the curve.

**The End.**


End file.
